


The Destiny of Trikru

by Nora_D_Mindoir



Series: The Destiny of Wanheda [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke is a Grounder, F/F, F/M, M/M, Retelling, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 16:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 59,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18211037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nora_D_Mindoir/pseuds/Nora_D_Mindoir
Summary: [all writing is currently on hold!] Clarke is ten when she flees with her father to Earth, only to realize that they weren't the last after all. New to this dangerous world, she has to grow up fast, prove her worth to the Trikru, and fight their wars. The question is, will her friendship with Lexa, leader of her people, help or be her doom?





	1. prolog

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoiler**  
>  All Seasons
> 
> **Rating**  
>  M for Language and Violence [As well as my own safety]
> 
> **Disclaimer**  
>  All rights of The 1OO including the characters belong to Jason Rothenberg, Warner Bros. and Alloy Entertainment. This product is a one-hundred percent non-profitably project.
> 
> **A/N**  
>  Italic dialogue in english is spoken in Trigedasleng!
> 
> If there's dialogue written in Trigedasleng it's because the POV doesn't speak it and hence can't understand it any more than you. Though I'm sure that there are many crazy fans out there, like myself, who actually can read it. Some words like Seken, Maunon, and Heda are used when the spoken language is English as well.
> 
> Originally I planned to publish this story in June '16. Then my computer crashed and deleted the file with hundred pages already written, and I didn't feel like rewriting it all from scratch for a very long time. Now I've decided to return to it and turn the storyline upside down.
> 
> Anyhow…
> 
> Due to Clarke being one of the grounders and not one of the 100, lots of stuff will differ from the show, though major events will still occur. Destiny will be very dark, just like the show, and with every chapter it will get darker. The main ship will be Clexa, but it's slowburn. As in very slow. As in, definitely not going to happen in the first part of the series.
> 
> One last thing; due to my job I won't have the chance to update regularly. I'm on lots of seminars for the next few years and haven't worked in the same town I live for a while now; I have to shuttle up to 200km on a regular basis. I try to write as much as possible, but you have to be very patient with me on this one!
> 
> sincerely your roman soldier  
> ~ Mindoir

The trees sway in the soft winds back and forth, emitting the beautiful sounds of rustling leaves. Birds chirp as they hop from crown to crown or pick the berries off the twigs from the smaller bushes. Not far away a small river runs between the trees and gives the sounds of nature a low but constant background noise.

In the midst of all this, blonde hair is sprawled across the grass and blue eyes stare up into the cloudless sky. A smile adorns the pale face as small feet hurry closer.

“Clarke!”, a voice calls out.

“Ugh”, is all Clarke can get out, as the young girl collapses on her and pushes the air out of her. “Careful, little natblida”, she finally breathes as she pushes some brown streaks of hair out of the girl’s face. “I still need those lungs.”

Madi only giggles and rolls off the blonde until she lies right next to her in the grass and stares up at the sky, too. Clarke puts an arm around her slender body and pulls her closer, pinching her slightly in the side as revenge, earning only more giggles from the girl.

“ _Can you_ -”, she begins to ask but is immediately interrupted.

“Gonasleng, Madi.”

“-tell me a story?”

“Again?”, Clarke sighs, knowing which story she wants to hear. The very one she told far more often than she can count. “You must know it as well as I myself by now. Why don’t you tell it?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Fine”, Clarke smiles as those green eyes literally beg her. The warrior in her might have earned her reputation for many reasons, but the part that is mother was never able to resist this pleading look.

“It all began many years ago, when I was just a little girl. A lot smaller than I am now, and even smaller than you. In fact, I was smaller than most of the other children my age. I have never really left the safety of my home, because where I lived, I couldn’t go outside, I couldn’t feel the air blowing my hair, or the sun burning my skin. I couldn’t go swimming or climbing trees. I didn’t even know what a horse or a wolf looked like. All I had from the ground, was the view when I watched through large windows and stared down at earth from miles above, because I lived between the stars, surrounded by metal. I didn’t have many friends. On most days there were only my parents and my most faithful companion; a small teddy bear with only one eye. But one day, everything changed. The spirits guided me down to earth to fulfill a destiny I didn’t even know I had: I-”

“You were to protect Heda, to end a war, to slay the monsters, to save the reaped, and to bring peace to the clans”, Madi interrupts Clarke with a serious, but awestruck voice.

“Hey, I thought you wanted me to tell the story?”

“ _Apologies_ ”, she grins sheepishly.

“But you’re right. I was to do all those things. But what was the real destiny, the spirits imposed on me?”

“You were to command death and life.”

Clarke nods a sad smile. For a long time, she resented her destiny, resented what the spirits chose her for. But after everything, she’s glad that she has been chosen for this, and not someone who might have never thought with their heart, and only with their head.

“I was to become Wanheda.”

 

_I was born // In a prison  
_ _No hope // For escape_

_I got used // To the silence  
_ _Cause I’m stuck // In my cage_

_I heard a voice // But I could not follow  
_ _It was a language // I didn’t know_

_I’ve seen a light // And it used to blind me  
_ _Was it real // Or just a dream_

_You cannot miss_  
_What you have never seen before  
_ _But deep inside you know there must be more_

_And as I left // No one tried to stop me  
_ _So I learned:_

_I was always as free // As I wanted to be_  
_I was always as free // As a bird_  
_I was always as free // As I wanted to be  
_ _But I was just too scared to see who I could be_

_[Prisoner by Stumfol]  
_

 

It rains across the thick forests of Trigeda. The animals hide in their nests, the people in the safety of their homes. Only some warriors scout the surroundings, walk their patrols, observant as ever, protecting their people. There’s no sound of birds chirping or children laughing, only the splatter of water hitting the ground and winds rustling the leaves. Then there’s an outcry of pain, followed by a roar of a monster.

“ _Run!_ ”, a teenage boy shouts to his two comrades when he sees the sharp teeth sinking into the body of their leader, snapping the head clean off.

He turns away immediately, sprinting past the other scouts, both few years older than him, who stare in shock at the bloody picture. It takes them a few seconds and another frantic scream to fall into action themselves.

The boy runs through the forest, barely dodging the trees, when his foot slips on the wet ground and he crashes face first into the dirt. The fall caught him so much by surprise that he halts for a moment, before he realizes that the monster is still running after him.

He heaves himself off the ground as his comrades run past him. “ _Get up_ ”, the older of the two urges him and grabs his arm, to help him back on his feet.

“ _Thank you_ ”, the scout breathes before beginning to charge into the direction of his home village again.

As he gets closer to his destination, a young female figure suddenly emerges from the bushes, a war cry on her lips, followed by a taller woman with fury in her eyes. They both have the paint of a warrior on their faces and their weapons drawn and jump straight into the giant beast which has caught up with the group of men.

“ _Now!_ ”, the woman shouts when the monster comes to a halt, seemingly confused about the display right in front of it, and arrows rain down on the giant beast.

It roars again and snatches some of the arrows away, but most hit their mark, slowly drawing blood from it. But instead of doing real damage, they only infuriate it more.

Nonetheless the woman and girl take this distraction as a chance and jump at the beast, sinking their blades deep into the hide and muscle.

It throws its massive pranks, each bigger than a man’s head, wildly into the rough directions of the two and snaps at them, but misses by long shots. Its blind rage weakens his attacks and they simply dodge anything and prepare to strike again, before they fall back and another hail of arrows rains from the trees.

A couple of minutes later, the beast doesn’t even twitch anymore, dozens of arrows stick out of its body, and blood pours from several wounds. Tinting the hide in a dark red.

Several other warriors emerge from the trees and pull out intact arrows, whereat the woman pulls the girl a few meters away.

“ _Well done, seken_ ”, she praises her, but neither her voice nor her face really back up any of the words. Her hard eyes are surrounded by dark kohl, making the blank expression only more emotionless.

“ _Thank you_ ”, the girl thanks for it anyway, with her head tilted downwards in respect, breathing heavily. If the scout had been to the capital more often, he would’ve recognized the girl’s warpaint as the typical forms natblida wear in battle before they become heda; a long black stripe across both eyes with a single stroke down the cheeks, as if tears left their tracks.

“ _You need to be more careful, child_ ”, the woman turns around to chastise the young scout who only huffs in response. He’s anything but a child. From the looks he’s older than the woman’s second, even if not by many years. “ _What is your name_?”

He puffs out his chest, rests a hand on his hunting knife and stares proudly into the woman’s eyes. “ _Lincoln_.”

_to be continued..._


	2. innocence and ignorance

_A child’s innocence is to be cherished. Their ignorance for the horror of adult life is a wonderful bliss. At least that’s what I thought until I set foot on earth. Here I learned that no one is truly innocent, and that ignorance can be the very thing to kill you. No matter your age._

_On some days I wish my daughter grew up with us, having a childhood that is holy, or as holy as we deem it in any way. On others I’m glad she learned how to survive in this reality so early and became this strong and confident woman her people love and fear the same. Either way I’m proud that despite all that happened, there is still humanity inside who the Grounders call Wanheda._

_Doctor Abigail Griffin kom Skaikru_

.oOo.

 

**Year 2142**

Outside is a deafening silence as well as pure darkness. Cold space, nothing around for thousands and thousands of miles. Inside it’s different, but no more pleasant. It’s still cold, but there’s neither silence nor darkness. Instead there’s the loud hum of the machines and the thruster pushing the small dropship closer to Earth’s atmosphere. There are red, white, and green flashes of light emitted by screens and warning lamps. There is the small whimper of a terrified young girl that doesn’t know what’s happening and the reassuring words whispered by her father.

Mere minutes ago, Clarke was holding onto Cuddles, the teddy-bear her father gave her when she was three years old, and stood at the tall window in the Go-Sci-Ring which is always pointed towards earth. She observed the swirling clouds swallow the land below and imagined the animals she learned about in books running and jumping around, surrounded by trees so much taller than the Last Tree housed in the Ark’s church.

Then everything happened too fast for her to really grasp. Suddenly her father was holding her hand and pulled her through the empty halls, telling her to hurry. Her mother was crying as she packed up three bags, filled them with essentials and some other stuff that belongs to the Griffin family. And then there was yelling and more pulling and running, until she was told to step into a dropship with her dad. She saw a pool of blood and Cuddles lying in it, she saw her mother being pushed to the ground and guards threatening her with their guns. Then the doors were shut close and a heavy force pushed her into the body of her father. Now she sits in the darkness, in his tight embrace.

“You’re brave and strong, Clarke”, his breath tickles her skin as he whispers the words. “Just hold on to me, and everything will be okay.”

She nods and holds on more tightly. She presses her eyes shut, thinking that maybe then the pictures of blood will leave her, but they’re still there. As well as the screams of the guards and her mom.

With a soft touch, her father caresses her head. “It’s all gonna be okay, I promise.”

She never thought she’d have her dad lie straight to her face.

 

.oOo.

 

At some point, Clarke fell asleep against her father, her rest being completely dreamless. And when she wakes up, she isn’t really sure if she’s truly awake, because there’s only darkness around, and the only sound accompanying her is her own breathing.

“Daddy?”, she whispers as she moves out of his embrace.

His arms that have been wrapped around her drop to his side and against the hull of the small vessel, emitting a loud thump. She moves her hands higher against his body and begins to shake him slightly, until her fingers dip into a warm viscous liquid.

“Daddy, wake up”, she pleads as he doesn’t react.

Suddenly there are other noises aside from her own cries and breathing. Footsteps, thuds, and voices, none of them clear. When something bangs against the hull from the outside, Clarke can’t help but shriek and sinks back into the motionless body of her father.

For a moment, the noises are completely gone, but then the banging becomes louder. It doesn’t take long before light shines into the small dropship and blends Clarke’s eyes. She turns her face into her dad’s torso to shield herself from the light and accidently dips half of her face as well as her hair in the warm liquid.

“ _Chit laik tiya?_ ”, a woman speaks from farther away in a language Clarke doesn’t understand.

“ _Gada en hef_ ”, another answers, the voice sounds much younger than the first, and, though quieter, continues to speak. “ _Hei, strikon._ ”

Slowly Clarke opens her eyes and turns her head towards the new hole in the pod, sensing that she’s being talked to. It takes a few seconds for her to adjust to the bright light, but when she does, she looks directly into the face of a girl, two maybe three years older than herself, with dark braided hair and black paint covering her green eyes.

“ _Gada en hef?_ ”, the first voice responds, this time sounding much closer.

A moment after, a second face blends into Clarke’s vision. This one is years older. Her brown narrow eyes are surrounded by blackness as well and the blonde hair, lots of shades darker than Clarke’s own, is braided, too.

“ _Em laik jus?_ ”

The girl reaches out towards Clarke, who shrinks away once more. But there’s not enough space to retreat, and two fingers trek a line across her cheek. When the hand moves back again, Clarke can see the color of the liquid she fell into for the first time; a deep crimson red.

“ _Sha, em laik jus_ ”, she mumbles and shows the tainted fingers to the woman. Then she turns back to Clarke. “ _Chit yu tagon bilaik?_ ”

Clarke knows that it’s a question, and that it’s directed at her, but she doesn’t understand a word. Confused and afraid, she merely stares at the two people in front of her.

“ _Yu tagon?_ ”, the girl repeats. “ _O kru? Chon yu bilaik?_ ”

“ _Em du nou chich trigedasleng_ ”, the woman interrupts the questions and roughly shoves the younger girl aside. “ _Jos won kru du nou chich oso sleng. Maunon._ ”

The woman draws her sword that has been strapped to her back. When she begins to swing it, Clarke turns away again, accompanied by a loud scream.

“ _Hod op, Anya_ ”, the girl shouts, though. Just in time to stop the woman from cutting Clarke with her steel in half. “ _Du nou frag em op._ ”

“ _Yu laik nou Heda nau, Lexa_ ”, the woman grumbles in a dangerously low voice. “ _Ai du nou teik yu reinseden in._ ”

“ _Emo don kom op kom skaifaya_ ”, the girl responds, her tone just as low, though a lot calmer than her companion. They both speak with a voice that says they’re not used to being said no to. “ _Bilaik Pramheda. Mebi keryon sen emo op._ ”

“ _Ai du nou teik yu reinseden in_ ”, the woman repeats, though the roughness is beginning to vanish out of her voice. “ _Yu laik ai seken, nou ai heda._ ”

“ _Beja_ ”, is all the girl responds in a tone that almost resembles a plea.

There are lots of seconds of silence. A pause, Clarke uses to dare looking towards the arguing women again. The older woman still holds a sword into her face, staring at Clarke as she thinks, while the girl has a hand on the woman’s weapon arm.

“ _Kei_ ”, she sighs and sheets her sword. “ _Oso na lid em in gon Polis. Oso na sin in chit heda en fleimkepa na biyo hashta yu sontaim._ ”

“ _Mochof, fos._ ”

The woman only rolls with her eyes before she moves towards Clarke. But as she grabs for her leg, the girl screams yet again, still afraid of being hurt by the weird strangers.

“ _Anya_ ”, the girl reprimands her.

“ _Argh_ ”, she grunts in annoyance, lets go of Clarke and takes a step back as she throws her hands up. “ _Ku, yu hom em daun._ ”

Now the girl steps closer to Clarke once more, with a small smile on her face, which might actually be quite reassuring, were it not for the amount of black paint on her skin and the number of weapons strapped to her clothes.

“We will not hurt you”, she says, for the first time using words Clarke understands. “What is your name?”

“Clarke”, she whispers.

“Clarke”, the girl repeats with a smile, sharply clicking the k in a way nobody has before. “It is nice to meet you. I am Lexa. And this is Anya.”

Anya nods once towards Clarke, though her face is still as stony as before.

“Are you hurt?”

Clarke shakes her head in response. It’s more an automatic reflex than a genuine answer. Then, carefully, Lexa extends a hand into the dropship, offering it to Clarke.

“Will you come out of there?”

Slowly she grasps the longer fingers and slides off her father’s legs. Only when her feet touch the ground, Clarke realizes where she is. Or better said, she knows where she isn’t anymore; this is anything but the Ark. Her feet are surrounded by green and as she looks up, there’s nothing but bright blue and spots of white. It looks a bit like when she stared through the window towards earth, only the other way around. She keeps looking around; tall structures colored brown with green tops surround them, next to one stand two tall creatures, one brown and one white colored, they eat from the green ground, and there are so many unknown noises filling her ears.

“Is this the ground?”, she asks astonished.

“Sha”, Lexa responds with a nod. “You are in the forests of Trikru.”

“The ground”, Clarke repeats the word with a small giggle and spins around herself, taking in the view, the sounds and the smell of the one thing the humans dreamed of while Lexa merely observes the weird behavior. “Daddy, we’re on the ground!”

She turns around, squealing like the little girl she is, until she notices the motionless body Anya drags out of the dropship. The head and torso are covered in red. Blood, Clarke now realizes and looks at her own hands, which are red from the liquid she has touched earlier. Her father’s blood.

“ _Em ste daun_ ”, Anya says to Lexa.

“You need to get mom”, Clarke says with tears in her eyes. “Mom can fix him.”

She has been at work with her mom often enough to know that she helps people who are hurt and they always say that she is the best at it.

“He is dead, girl”, Anya says in English. “No healer can fix death.”

“No”, Clarke whispers and stumbles towards her father.

She drops to her knees when she’s next to him and shakes his shoulder, but he won’t move a muscle. She closes her eyes and tries to remember the words they have spoken so often, with every Unity Day, with every prayer. And with every death.

“In peace”, she starts, but gets interrupted by her own sob. “May you leave the shore. In love, may you find the next. Safe-”, she halts, trying to remember the next word. She had always problems with pronouncing it. “Passage on your travels until our final journey to the ground”, her voice begins to quiver close to the end. “May we meet again.”

Anya and Lexa have been silent the entire speech, realizing that the young and now orphan girl guides her father’s spirit to the next life. Only when they are sure that Clarke has been finished, they speak in unison.

“ _Yu gonplei ste odon._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

It’s the very first night on the ground for Clarke, and it’s strangely beautiful. Despite the tragic situation she’s in, and despite the pyre that’s being built right in front of her, with her father lying in the middle, wrapped in white cloth, it’s still beautiful. Because when Clarke looks up, behind all those dark leaves from the trees surrounding the village, she sees the stars. She was always used to looking down on the planet, living in the stars, but now she sees them, shining brighter than she ever imagined, and for a moment she wonders if the people who live on the ground dream of being among the stars the same way the people on the Ark dream of walking on Earth.

“Are you alright, Clarke?”, Lexa asks as she walks over to the blonde with a torch in her hand.

Clarke only shrugs as answer. She wouldn’t say she’s alright, she’s strangely calm, though. “Anya said we’ll burn daddy to free his spirit. What does that mean?”

The older girl regards Clarke as if she had two heads, probably not expecting someone to not know, but then she just smiles and stares at the unlit pyre.

“Our spirits are trapped inside our body for as long as we live. When our body burns, the shell opens and the spirit is free to roam the world. Some spirits enjoy the freedom, others return to humankind and aid another on their journey.”

“That’s beautiful”, Clarke whispers. Her dad will be able to see the ground after all.

For a moment, Lexa looks at the blonde strangely, a question on her mind, but she only shakes her head and hands Clarke the torch. “Breik em keryon au, gon em gonplei ste odon.”

Even though Clarke doesn’t understand the words, she gets the meaning behind them. She takes a step forward and lowers the torch until its flame licks at the wood. It doesn’t take long for the straw beneath to catch fire, and it grows rapidly. Soon her father is wrapped in red and orange, and the smoke rises into the night. The smell of burning flesh fills her nostrils, an unpleasant feeling that causes her stomach to revolt, but she can’t look away. She’s to transfixed by the way the body slowly disappears and transforms into black smoke.

“What will happen with me now?”

“We will bring you to Polis, but from there on”, Lexa sighs. “It is for Heda to decide.”

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

Despite her eyes being closed, it’s not just black that she sees. Instead, lights and shadows flicker across her eyelids as her face nearly burns from the closeness to the fire in front of her. The world around her is full of smoke and smells like burnt flesh, but she forces herself to take deep breaths and fills her lungs with the sickening smell, nearly causing her to vomit, until she has to cough out the inhaled ashes and clamps the red cloth that loosely hangs around her neck across her mouth and nose.

It’s a very self-destructive behavior. Apart from the common sense that tells a human not to inhale ashes and smoke, she has read enough about medicine and health issues in books from the old world to know that breathing it in can cause long lasting damage for the lungs, but she does it anyway. In the beginning it was a very weird part of her training to get her used to the smell so that she won’t recoil if she ever had to set foot into a burning village. Over the years it has changed into a ritual for her and she finds that each time she stands in front of a pyre and once again realizes how awful death smells like, she can stand it a few seconds longer before her lungs cramp up and her stomach groans.

“ _Skaigada_ ”, a gruff voice calls out from behind her.

Instantly, Clarke’s eyes snap open and stare right at the burning remains of three Trikru warriors, all of them wrapped in linen that have been white before they were tainted with blood and scorched in the fire. Even though the bright fire blinds her eyes so much that a dull ache throbs in the back of her skull, she doesn’t turn her gaze away for another couple of seconds. She turns around and instantly recognizes the giant man to whom the voice belongs. The symmetric tattoo that covers most of his face blends perfectly with the black paint that surround his eyes and cover his cheekbones. Even though they’re properly braided, his brown, long hair and beard are a tangled mess and it’s hard to distinguish where the former ends and the latter begins.

“ _Ryder_ ”, she says with a curt nod.

“ _Heda wishes to speak to you._ ”

“ _I will be there in a moment.”_

“ _She asked me to bring you to her. Now._ ”

Due to him being one of only two of Heda’s close guards he isn’t used to people disobeying his commands, his sheer height and muscle are merely a nice touch for those who do not know of his occupation. Clarke has never been one for commands, though, and if she has one hobby in this god forsaken world, it’s messing with the Trikru leader and her guards.

“ _And I said, I will be there_ ”, she repeats in a stern voice, not leaving any room for further discussion.

“ _Very well_ ”, he huffs, too annoyed to put up with her erratic behavior. “ _Suit yourself._ ”

He turns around and walks back towards the village he came from, his heavy footsteps echo around for a few more seconds, even after his body was already swallowed by the darkness. Not intent to move from her current position just yet, Clarke turns back towards the fire and fixes her gaze at the burning bodies anew. By now it’s hard to tell that they were ever more than a grand black and charred heap of something unrecognizable. Only the smell is a true reminder of what they’re burning.

“Do you think it is wise to have her wait?”, a different voice asks carefully from her left.

Clarke barely suppresses a flinch, she has forgotten that Lincoln stood in front of the pyre right next to her all this time. She steels a glance to the side without turning her head and sees him keeping his stare at the flames as well. His dark skin shimmers red from the flames and the dried blood that covers his face in places his mask did not protect. His hair is in need of being cut again as his usually bald sides begin to grow out and the thick strip on top is getting long enough to surrender to gravity and fall down. Instantly she remembers the very first time she met the young scout. Back then, he was twice her height and looked so frightening with his dark kohl on his face, the tip of his tattoo peaking out of his collar and the skull mask held loosely in his hand. He spoke his whole greeting in harsh Trigedasleng and only switched to a language the young Clarke could actually speak when he was told so by the very frightened girl, but for some reason they never switched back after Clarke managed to learn it. Now, five years later, she sees a friend in him after learning of his true self, hidden beneath all those muscles that is, albeit very strong and determined, tired of fighting everything just because it has always been this way.

“Probably not”, Clarke says. “But it’s fun to irritate her.”

She turns her head fully and grants him a small smirk. Even though she can consider herself fully grown by now, Lincoln still towers over her by a solid ten inches, and she must crane her neck slightly to get a good look at his warm eyes that have turned towards her with a crinkle. She stopped asking herself why all the Trikru men seem to grow so tall a long while ago and simply accepted the fact that they’d always be much taller than her.

“Well, if someone can survive it, it is you.”

“I have my fair share of bruises, too.”

Lincoln cranes a very doubtful brow at her and Clarke only chuckles in response, of course he knows that she’s lying. Even though she has been at the bad end of Heda’s shouting more than she’d like to, she always managed to bite back and get out with her head held high. Not many can say that about themselves after clashing with the young leader who has a way of claiming respect by simply looking at someone.

Then the scout clears his throat and nods towards a place close to the pyre.

“Do you want us to wait or continue without you?”

Instantly the light mood is gone and Clarke grimaces as she recalls where she is and why she’s standing here, so close to a burning fire, so warm in the middle of the winter night. She looks to where Lincoln nodded and sighs deeply as she spots half a dozen bundles of linen, all of them once white but now sprinkled red because of the blood of the dead they’ve been wrapped around.

“Build the pyres, but don’t light them until I return”, she says. “I doubt I’ll be gone long.”

Her voice is barely more than a whisper and yet strong enough to receive a curt and dutiful nod in response. It’s quite funny how the tables have turned - funny in a very weird way. They’ve gone from him teaching her how to hunt and scout to her ordering him around in a span of only three years.

Simply shaking that thought off, Clarke nods herself and turns around to walk back into the village. Three steps later, she stops though, and turns back to see that Lincoln has already begun with his task to stack the wood for the next pyre.

“Lincoln”, she calls out and he immediately spins around. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t ask what she’s actually thanking him for, but only nods with a genuine smile before returning to his former task, and Clarke does as well.

The farther she walks away from the pyre, the more she realizes that it is indeed a real winter night. The cold wind bites into the few patches of skin that aren’t covered by cloth, fur, or leather. And even though the snow has not yet found its way across the Azgeda border into their territory, the grass is already covered in a thin sheet of frost and crunches with every step she takes.

The few guards she encounters on her way nod their greetings but stay silent otherwise as they try to warm themselves at the few fires that have been set up between the houses of the small village. What she does notice however is the way they scrunch up their noses if she walks by them close enough. Only then Clarke realizes that she smells the very same the pyre with burning flesh does; like death itself.

She shudders and clutches her jacket impossibly tighter around herself as she walks through the complete village until she reaches the tall tent that has been set up near its entrance on the other side. Even in the faint glow of near fires the banners with the Trikru symbol are clearly visible hanging from the cloth and flapping in the wind. In front of the tent’s entrance that is covered with a thick sheet of leather and fur, a very grim Ryder stands guard, his hand clutched to a halberd. She notices that part of his beard and hair have the same frosted covering as the grass beneath her feet and wonders if it has been there this whole time or if it has frozen over after he left her standing by the pyre.

“ _You decided to show yourself_ ”, the giant of a man grumbles in what can only be described as very annoyed sarcasm. “ _How kind of you._ ”

“ _I try_ ”, Clarke answers with the same amount of sarcasm, earning nothing more than an eyeroll.

She strides past him and throws the covers to the side to enter the tent. It’s noticeably warmer inside, the thick cloth keeps the cold and biting winds outside, and so Clarke quickly opens her jacket and brushes off her gloves, stuffing them inside a pocket. She runs a cold hand across her face and notices what she must look like when she stares at the red and black colors that are attached to her palm and haven’t been there before. For a moment she thinks about cleaning herself up before stepping further into the tent to meet her Heda, but then she decides against it. There is a war going on, after all. Her looking like she came fresh out of a fight and reeking of death should not be the strangest thing anybody has to see tonight. So, she ignores the fact that she is covered in dirt and blood and smells of sweat and burned flesh, and walks towards the main compartment of the tent.

But Lexa is nowhere to be seen. Only her throne stands in the middle of the room, a smaller replica of the original back in Polis.

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2142**

The room is tall, easily big enough to fit a hundred people, but now only a handful are inside. A tall window, or better said hole, lets not just light, but also wind inside. On top of a wooden throne, looking like a tree without leaves, sits a young man with caramel skin, his hair dark and short. His brown eyes are tired and between them rests a bronze accessor, shaped like a gear. A red sash hangs from his left shoulder and pools to his feet like blood. Lexa has called him Heda when they were traveling up the tower, the leader of their people. To his right stands a bald man, significantly older than he, with black ink covering the top of his head, but not his face. He wears a black robe and looks like a priest of sorts. On the other side of the throne a warrior stands guard, as well as to each side of the door behind them.

The only other people present are Anya, Lexa, and Clarke. The first two sink to their knees and when Clarke doesn’t follow suit, Anya roughly tugs at Clarke’s arm, until she drops down rather hard as well.

“ _Heda_ ”, Anya greets the man.

“ _Gyon op._ ”

The three rise back to their feet and take a step forward.

“ _Chon em goufa bilaik?_ ”, the man asks with a subtle nod towards Clarke.

“ _Oso don hon em op tiya trimani_ ”, Anya answers. “ _Lexa vout in keryon don sen em op en em gada seken flaim in._ ”

“ _Bandragen_ ”, the bald man utters rather loud, but Heda swiftly quiets him with a raise of his hand, never keeping his eyes off the group. The man is visibly furious about being shut up like this, but he merely takes a deep breath and otherwise keeps quiet with his eyes flashing at Clarke. He’s seems important, but clearly not enough to be allowed of saying whatever and whenever he wants.

“ _Gouva klin._ ”

“ _Em don kom op kom skai tiya shil_ ”, Lexa says. “ _Bilaik Pramheda._ ”

The room is silent with everyone but Lexa and Anya staring at Clarke, which makes her twitch uncomfortably.

“ _Tona don kom op kom skai foutaim. Hakom yu vout in em gada flaim in?_ ”

“ _Sha, tona don kom op kom skai_ ”, Lexa agrees with a nod. " _Ba non don kik thru. Em laik fos pas Pramheda. Em souda gada som in._ ”

“ _Ba seken fleim_ ”, the bald whispers doubtful and with something akin to anger.

“ _Em nou gaf laik fleim, ba noseim kerion_ ”, Heda offers. “ _Tona keryon laik tiya oso houd. Emo laik yuj ba nou ge ai op. Bilaik keryon kom wor o keryon kom wanplei. Non don ai emo op in yo._ ”

Clarke silently watches the arguments go back and forth without understanding a single word. But it’s clear, whatever they say, they’re discussing her and her fate, so she does her best to stand still and keep her mouth shut. Lexa is clearly on her side, while Anya keeps herself in the background and only throws in a word to shut the bald man up if he gets too loud. For some reason, she’s clearly annoyed by him which seems to outshine her dislike for Clarke. Something she doesn’t mind at all, if it puts the woman on her side as well. Heda keeps calm during the whole conversation, but rarely takes his eyes off her.

“What is your name, child?”, Heda asks.

Clarke just stares at him. She needs a few seconds to comprehend that the question wasn’t just directed to her, but also asked in English and she understands it.

“Clarke”, she finally whispers with a crack in her voice.

“Speak up.”

“Clarke”, she repeats, louder this time.

“I am Aron, Heda kom Trikru. Tell me, Clarke, why are you here?”

“Lexa said-”

“No”, he interrupts her, though not as stern as he did with the man to his side before. With her his voice is softer, warmer somehow, but not less commanding. “Do not tell me what Lexa said. I want your words, not hers.”

“I'm not sure”, she answers truthfully and thinks for a few seconds, waiting for a reaction from the young man, but she’s granted none. “There was a fight and blood. We ran and then we fell to the ground.”

“We?”, the bald man inquires, for a moment he looks at Lexa as if he’d caught her in a lie.

“Yes”, Clarke nods. “My dad and I.”

“Where is your father?”

For the first time since exiting the escape pod, Clarke feels aware of the blood on her face she has yet to clean. Her eyes drop to the ground and she shuffles her feet as a few tears blur her vision. “He’s dead.”

“Dead”, Heda repeats before leaning closer to the bald man and switches back to their language. “ _Mebi den em don kik thru._ ”

“ _Yu vout in em nontu don givnes gon em?_ ”

“ _Nou. I vout in em don givnes em nontu. Keryon kom wan._ ”

“ _Mebi_ ”, the bald man grunts in response, clearly unhappy with whatever his leader said. “ _Ba ai nou vout in._ ”

“Very well”, the Heda says after a few seconds of silence and stands up. “I have decided. Clarke, you will stay with us for now, you will train with the natblida and attend to lessons with Titus. You will live in our way. And then, hopefully, we will all learn why you were sent to us.”

 

.oOo.

 

“ _Heda, are you sure this is wise?_ ”, the question is uttered as soon as the others have left the room and no one but Aron and his advisor stay behind.

“ _Do you doubt my decision, Titus?_ ”

“ _Of course not_ ”, he swiftly says with a respectful tilt of his head. “ _But what if she truly has one of the old spirits? She could become more powerful than the flame. Do you not remember praimfaya?_ ”

“ _That is why we need to keep her close to the natblida._ ”

“ _Heda?_ ”

“ _For a fleimkepa you are strangely dense at times_ ”, Aron sighs earning a splutter from Titus.

The young leader walks around the room and towards the table in the middle, with a map on top of it, showing the territory of all clans, and dozens of wooden figures of different color and shape.

“ _If we let her in and train her with the natblida as one of them, if we let her bond with them, she will be close to the next Heda. It will not matter if she becomes more powerful, as she will have no desire to kill them. She will serve them. A spirit ruled by Heda_ ”, he smiles as his fingers softly caress the red figure standing where Polis is drawn onto the map. But soon his smile falters and his voice grows hard. “ _But if we let her go, she might become our greatest threat, maybe even our doom._ ” He flicks at the red figure, knocking it over.

“ _We could just kill her now and destroy that threat before it has a chance to arise._ ”

“ _We could, and maybe even save our people with it_ ”, Aron nods in agreement as he grabs the small white figure from the table that is shaped like a crown. “ _Or we lose our greatest chance to defeat our enemies once and for all. Just imagine she is a spirit of the old and fights for us. We will finally crush Azgeda_ ”, as he utters the words, he clenches his fist around the crown, breaks it in half and throws the pieces back onto where the Ice Palace is marked on the map. “ _It is our destiny, Titus._ ”

“ _What if you are wrong, Heda?_ ”, Titus inquires and worriedly gazes at the shards on the table. “ _What if she is just a girl?_ ”

“ _Then we make her a legend_ ”, he says with a shrug and grabs a random Trikru warrior figure to work the wood with his knife. “ _Sometimes all people need is to believe. Make them see the spirit inside her and they will follow. Make her believe it herself. Either way, our people will cheer whenever she walks the street, and our enemies will tremble in fear._ ” He throws the figure to Titus.

“ _And if she dies?_ ”

“ _By then it would not matter. You cannot kill a legend._ ”

Without another word, Aron leaves his throne room.

Titus sighs and looks first at the red figure lying on the map, symbolizing the Heda kom Trikru, and the broken crown of Azgeda’s Queen, before his gaze moves down to the intact figure in his hands with the recently carved skull instead of a head.

“ _That is what I am afraid of._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

Right after Clarke had the pleasure of meeting Heda Aron for the very first time, she is shown to her room. It’s on the same floor as the natblida reside, Lexa tells her, whatever those are. And the older girl has the room right next to hers. Two young women come by with buckets full of water and fill the tub in her room, giving Clarke the chance to clean herself, which she gladly takes. They also bring her some clothes to wear; a shirt with long sleeves and old jeans, all in black. They’re in better condition than anything she’s ever worn on the Ark before.

While she thoroughly cleans herself, Anya deposits her and her father’s belongings in her room. It’s not much; the clothes her father has been wearing, drenched in his own blood, as well as a set of spare clothes for each of them and her mother, which they had stored in one of the backpacks.

The second backpack is filled with books, most of them are full of medical information her mother studied, tooth brushes and other every day utensils they might have needed on the ground. It tells Clarke that not only landing on earth was deliberately, but her mother planned to come along. Something went wrong, but it all happened too fast for her to understand or even notice.

The first item she takes from the bundle of stuff is her dad’s old watch. It has a huge crack along the glass, but its hands still move gradually across the numbers. She puts it onto her right wrist. It’s too big for her small arm, but she’s confident she’ll grow into it in time.

The next thing to catch her attention is the golden wedding band her dad wore on his finger. It has several marks on it, showing its age, as well as a faded engravement on the inside; _always_. It’s identical to the ring her mom has. Her parents once told her that they had to look for a long time to find two matching rings, as it is not easy since they were not produced any more but rather handed down and traded. She turns it around a couple of times, before she decides to use a shoelace of her dad’s shoes to transform the ring into a necklace and wears it. She holds it in her fist and closes her eyes for a moment, remembering the promise her father made her; _it’s all gonna be okay_.

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

Somehow her hand has moved on its own accord to her throat and now holds onto the ring that rests peacefully against her skin beneath the red cloth she always wears around her neck. She has been standing in this position for full two minutes now, dizzily staring up at the empty throne, waiting for Lexa to appear. She could clear her throat, call out for her, or do anything else to make her presence known, but instead she just stands in the middle of the tent like she doesn't belong, caught in her own world and once again asking herself, why Heda needs a throne in a war-camp. All of the sudden, the clothes she wears to protect herself from the cold and an enemies’ blade seem heavier on her shoulders, and the dirt and blood sprayed across it and her skin feel like a burning fire.

“ _Skaigada_ ”, a surprised voice calls out.

So caught up in her thoughts, Clarke startles and spins around. Her hand swiftly moves away from the necklace and towards the hilt of the sword that is strapped to her back, but then she catches the sight of a young woman standing in the entrance to Lexa’s private part of this tent. She's older than Clarke, but definitely younger than their Heda and looks so fragile in her thin robe that can’t possibly be enough to protect her from the cold once she leaves this tent. Her long brown hair cascades smooth and unbraided down her shoulders and her amber eyes are blown wide with uncertainty as they stare at the blonde.

Clarke has never seen her before, but her robe bears the mark of a healer and instantly she worries that something has happened to Lexa on her travel and that’s why Ryder was ordered to fetch her immediately.

“ _Is Heda alright?_ ”

“ _Sha_ ”, the healer nods, the uncertainty never leaving her face. “ _She merely wished to discuss our setup in the camp._ ”

“ _I see_ ”, Clarke responds, not fully convinced.

There is something about the woman that Clarke can’t quite put her finger on. She doesn’t seem like she wishes anybody harm, but the way she shifts from one foot to the other is an oddly nervous gesture and so uncommon in the middle of a war-camp.

But the healer merely averts her gaze and excuses herself to leave the tent before Clarke can dig deeper. “ _I wish you a restful night, Skaigada._ ”

“I hate when they call me that”, Clarke mumbles to herself once she’s alone again.

Or at least, she thought, she’d be alone. Instead a new voice cuts through her thoughts from behind her once more.

“Titles can be very powerful, Clarke.”

She’d recognize that voice anywhere. Even in a room full of drinking and laughing warriors, the sharp click of the k in her name that only she pronounces this way, would seem the loudest to her. But the words cause her to roll her eyes despite the joy she feels upon hearing her speak again after weeks of not having seen her.

“ _Sky Girl_ is hardly a title. It’s a mock. A reminder that I’m different.”

It’s not just something Clarke says to spite her leader or feel sorry for herself. It’s really used to mock her. Or it was, anyway. After she landed on earth and spent time with the Trikru, especially Anya called her that instead of her real name to remind her that she wasn’t one of them, no matter how hard she tried. Somehow it twisted from Anya’s personal way of mocking and irritating her into a title that has earned some sort of respect among their people. By now, Anya is the only one to call her that for the sake of mocking alone, though it has shifted towards being playful and endearing instead of hurtful. Not that the tough general would ever admit it to herself or anybody else.

“It started out that way”, is the response as if Lexa has heard the gears shifting in her head. “But our people respect it. And you.”

The young Heda moves into Clarke’s vision and the blonde sees the tired state she’s in. The braids of her long hair are slightly loosened, probably due to the hours of riding she has done today. The kohl on her face is still present but smeared by sweat. She has yet to discard her pauldron and even her sword still rests on her hip, hidden partly by the red sash. Her posture is still straight and high, but as someone who knows her, Clarke sees the slight crumble of her shoulders under the weight of her position and not having slept for more than a day. There’s a loose smile on her face, though, that instantly warms Clarke’s heart.

“I just wish they’d call me by my name. Or something else, at least.”

“Then do something to earn a new title”, Lexa says as if it’s as easy as snapping your fingers. “But do not ask of them to use your name.”

“Don’t you like it?”, the blonde asks with a smirk.

“You know I do”, Lexa rolls her eyes. “But like I said, titles are power.”

“Easy for you to say, Heda.”

“I can see what you mean”, the leader deadpans in her most serious tone, causing Clarke to chuckle.

To Lexa her titles have always been naturally, she was called Natblida all her life and then became Heda. Only few people called her by her given name when she was a child, and even fewer dare doing it now, even though everybody knows it. Clarke might be the only one to never use her title once they’re alone, and even when not, she often refrains from using it if their surroundings and company don’t necessarily demand it. To the blonde it simply feels wrong to call her by anything other than what she knows her to be; her closest friend since she crashed down on earth. And to Lexa it feels just as weird to hear Clarke word the title.

“But I am sure destiny will grant you a proper title in time.”

“Oh, not again with this destiny crap”, Clarke rolls her eyes and it’s a testament to how close they are that Lexa doesn’t even flinch at the swearing or the obvious defiance.

They’ve had this conversation often over the past couple of years and always brought forth the same arguments. Clarke doesn’t care about destiny and fate, and only does what she thinks is right, whereat Lexa merely states that it doesn’t change a thing about the spirits having chosen her for something greater. She truly believes it, it’s why she saved her from the escape pod and stopped Anya from executing her on the spot. And the former Heda Aron thought the very same.

The Trikru and probably every other clan’s religion is about spirits that surround them everywhere they go and shape the world around them, instead of just representing a living being’s soul. They influence the behavior of humans and animals, they direct people towards a certain goal, and sometimes they even become part of someone. There are smaller spirits that surround everything, spirits that left their former shell and now roam the world. And there are the old spirits, possessing great power over death, life, love, and many other things. It is rare for most of them to choose a person to guide, but if they do, this person can become just as powerful. The spirit most important to the Trikru is that of Heda, which is part of them since Becca Pramheda lead the people after Praimfaya, as they call the nuclear catastrophe that ended the old world. Becca fell from the sky and was declared their savior. And now that Clarke came to them the very same way, people have spun the legendary tale of the spirits having sent her, too. She may have adopted the believe in spirits and their power, but not once she considered herself being chosen by one of the old spirits for something greater. It never mattered how much Clarke emphasized that she’s just a girl from the Ark, so at one point she stopped all together. Now only few selected people know of her true origin. With Lexa though, this discussion never seems to come to an end.

“You cannot escape fate.”

“Well, then maybe it’s my fate to resent it so much”, the blonde mutters. “Ever thought of that?”

“I did, actually”, even though there is a small smirk on her face, Clarke knows that Lexa is serious. “All happens because it is supposed to happen.”

The blonde only sighs and shakes her head. She’s very much tired of having this discussion over and over again.

“Anyway, I guess you called me here for a different reason.”

“Sha, and do not think I forgot that you are late and defied my command”, Lexa says and her face visibly shifts from the close friend to the mask of Heda; lips pressed together, chin held high, and eyes slightly narrowed. “It is time to plan the beginning of the coalition. I am tired of losing men in senseless wars.”

“I agree”, Clarke murmurs, her thought however wanders to the pyre outside the village. “But it’s the middle of the night and you’ve only just arrived.”

“The sooner we plan on where to start-”

“Lexa”, Clarke instantly interrupts her. “You look like shit. Take your mind off your duties for one night and get a proper sleep. I have no time for doing this now, anyway. I have pyres to return to.”

Lexa shakes her heads slightly but doesn’t even address the blatant disrespect Clarke just showed her Heda like she would with anyone else. And then she takes a closer look at the blonde, the blood and sweat she’s covered in, the mess of her bright hair, a couple of shades darker now due to the dirt, and the blue eyes that are usually so mysterious and deep like an ocean, now empty and dull with red rims from lack of sleep and exhaustion.

“You need rest as well, Clarke. Let my warriors tend to the dead.”

“I am one of your warriors”, Clarke reminds her with raised brows. “And I was tasked to give our lost men the proper guidance. I will not simply discard that.”

Lexa nods her understanding, she wouldn’t force Clarke to ignore the dead, even though she could easily assign someone else to do it.

“How many have we lost?”

“Eight men last night”, Clarke sighs. “Three the one before.”

“They are getting more arrogant in their advance.”

“They are, but we fight back. For each man we lost, wo took two Azkru.”

“This is not a contest, Clarke”, Lexa’s nostrils flare dangerously. It shows just how much she despises the endless killing, even though she’s pretty good at ordering and doing it herself.

“You don’t have to tell me, I stand at the front every day”, Clarke’s response is calm, but it still sounds like a shout in the silence of the tent. “I saw each of them die.”

The Heda hesitates in her answer, and then, instead of saying anything at all, simply sighs and her shoulders sag.

“You were right”, she finally admits and unclasps the belt that ties the pauldron to her shoulder. She simply lets it fall to the ground in the pool of red sash before she moves to remove her sword as well. “I am tired.”

“We will discuss our plans tomorrow. With the full council, when you are rested and look as demanding as ever.”

The small joke creates a tiny smile on Lexa’s lips and she nods her agreement. Calling it a win for the day, Clarke nods her goodbye and moves to leave the tent. But just as her hands touch the fabric of the entrance’s cover, she remembers a question she wanted to ask the leader. She turns her head back around to see Lexa take off her long coat.

“Who was the woman?”

“What?”, her eyes snap up, slightly widened, as if shocked by the question.

“The woman”, Clarke repeats. “The healer that was here when I came in. Who was she, what did she want?”

“She elaborated the setup of the healer’s camp to me.”

It is the exact same reason that the woman told her, and Clarke may not know her enough to spot dishonesty in her words, but she knows Lexa. And she can tell when Lexa tells her a blatant lie.

“I see”, she mumbles with narrowed eyes. “Reshop, Lexa.”

Without waiting for a response and trying not to think about the reason she would keep the truth about the woman’s visit a secret, Clarke walks out of the tent and into the night.

 

.oOo.

 

It can’t be many hours after going to sleep when a loud horn wakes her up again and Anya sits in front of her, staring at her with a weird mixture of concern and disappointment. She would be seriously creeped out by having Anya’s narrow eyes surrounded with the deep black of kohl and completed with a grim expression to be the first thing to see after opening her eyes, if she’d not be so used to it.

“ _Anya_ ”, she greets her, her own voice even raspier than usual from the sleep.

“ _How long have you been up?_ ”, as usual, the general cuts right to the chase.

“ _Long after midnight. Why?_ ”

“ _You did not even wipe your face. You look and reek like you died yourself._ ”

Clarke looks down at herself and can’t help but groan. Anya’s right, she didn’t even undress herself but still wears her mud and blood stained, sweaty clothes. After Clarke lit the other two pyres and stayed to watch the remaining five dead warriors burn to nothing but ashes, she walked over to her own tent and headed straight for the empty bedroll inside. She barely managed to drop her sword right next to her before she collapsed and fell asleep.

“ _Shit._ ”

“ _Shit indeed_ ”, Anya agrees. “ _Clean yourself up, Heda awaits us for the council._ ”

“ _Can you stall her?_ ”

“ _No, I will not stall her_ ”, Anya responds in a firm voice as she raises to her feet, but there is a glint of amusement in her eyes. “ _Get up and come to her tent. You have fifteen minutes before I tell her you are as incompetent as ever._ ”

Clarke groans again as Anya leaves their shared tent and slowly sits up. The first thing she notices is a fresh set of her own clothes, neatly stacked right next to a bucket of water and a set of towels. Things like this remind Clarke that Anya does care. As seken it would be her job to set up fresh clothes and cleaning utensils for Anya, after all. Not the other way around.

She begins with opening her braids and combs through the mess of her hair, removing most of the thicker dirt clumps, before she braids it out of her face again. She tends to do a couple of smaller braids that join the unbraided hair on her back instead of braiding it all. As long as it doesn’t fall into her face, it’s practical enough. Then she undresses herself and carefully lies the dirty and sweaty clothes down on the ground between the two bedrolls so that they can dry. She scrubs herself clean, or as clean as possible with a single bucket of icy water, and dresses herself in the prepared clothes. The only thing that she puts back on from the day before are her heavy boots, the red cloth she uses as scarf, her father’s wedding band and watch, and the sword that’s always strapped to her back. Last but not least she digs into her own bags until she finds the box of kohl and applies it to her face; a thick stripe from ear to ear that crosses her eyes and nose.

Considering herself finished with cleaning and dressing, she leaves the tent to find that the camp is already buzzing with action. Warriors hurry around as they claim their posts, from somewhere farther away she can hear the sounds of a training ground, and the close village is filled with the laughter of children. It’s a strangely beautiful sound in the middle of death and agony.

Not giving it any second thoughts, Clarke strides through the camp, greeting passing warriors, and walks towards the tallest among them all, with the banners flapping in the wind. Ryder is still standing guard, though he looks like he’d fall asleep any second. Something Clarke can’t blame him, he traveled all night and since he arrived he did nothing but guard his Heda, but she also knows that he’s too proud to accept anyone else taking over what is his duty.

“ _Late again. Such a surprise_ ”, he greets her, his voice is even gruffer than yesterday due to the lack of sleep.

“ _I would not want to change my habits, or you might die of shock._ ”

For some reason Clarke doesn’t really know, the banter between her and the tall guard has always been their natural way of speaking since the very moment they met. It’s a weird way of comfort, she knows that all is good as long as they continue like this. Only when things are bad, they talk to each other seriously. Still, she can’t help but voice her concern for his state.

“ _Get some rest, Ryder. There are half a dozen very capable warriors in that tent to protect Heda._ ”

She doesn't wait for a response and instead simply steps inside. All conversation that had been held before her arrival comes to an abrupt stop and eight sets of eyes focus on her. They surround a large table that hasn’t been here last night. On the other side, to her exact opposite, stands Lexa herself. Her hair properly braided and her kohl reapplied to her usual warpaint; a thick stripe from ear to ear like her own, but with streaks running down looking like trails of tears. The bronze gear, symbol of Heda, is pinned between her eyebrows and she’s clothed in her full warrior garments again with her sash hanging from her shoulder.

To her left Gustus towers above them all. He has the sides of his head shaved clean, but the rest of his hair and beard is as long as Ryder’s and the sides of his face are covered in ink, too. He is the second man of Lexa's closest guard and the one with fewer sarcasm, but he is kind at heart and would die for his Heda to ensure her safety. Clarke remembers the day she first met him clearly, it was long before Lexa ascended and when he was only a guard in Tondisi. She had just awoken from a nightmare after falling asleep on a horse, embraced by Lexa. She fell off and, dizzy from the monsters in her sleep, hurriedly crawled away, straight into the giant frame of Gustus. He muttered an insult she didn’t understand and stared down at her as if he’d squish her with his giant palms, until his eyes found Lexa running to them. Suddenly, his whole face lit up and he chuckled fondly. Lexa later explained that Gustus often used to train her when she was younger and that is why he has always been so kind to her. And it’s also why she chose him as her guard once she became Heda.

To Lexa's right Indra, the chief of Tondisi, straightens her back, her dark lips pursed as she looks down at Clarke despite the fact that they’re almost the same height. Her icy stare is emphasized by the scars littering her face. Anya has her arms crossed as she smirks at the blonde from where she’s positioned to Indra’s right.

Next to Gustus stand Tristan and Quint, both smaller than the guard, but still taller than every woman in the room. They’re both bald, and the second has a beard as well as a tribal tattoo along his right cheek and a scar below his left eye. They are, together with Anya, the generals in Lexa’s army, though Clarke has much less sympathy for them. The last two people in the room are the seken of Tristan and Quint. They’re both younger than Clarke and have taken cover behind their fos as they quietly listen into the conversation.

“ _I apologize for my delay, Heda_ ”, Clarke says with a firm voice and a slight bow, showing her the kind of respect that is appropriate for this council.

Tristan looks like he’s about to say something spiteful, but Lexa interrupts him before he’s even able to open his mouth.

“ _Join us_ ”, she gestures towards Anya and Clarke takes her place.

Other than Quint and Tristan’s seken, Clarke never waits behind her fos for the grown-ups to be done talking, instead she stands to her right and is included into the discussion, something that always bugged the other generals. It makes it seem like a seken has the same power as a general, which actually might not be that far from the truth. Even though Clarke doesn’t have the same pull over the army that they have, everyone knows that she has been a friend to Lexa for years. That alone lets people do as she says. It’s like Lexa said; a title is power.

“ _Well, now that everybody is present, let us begin_ ”, Lexa’s voice resonates in the tent. “ _We gathered here because of my plans of bringing the twelve clans together in a coalition that has never existed before. I will not lie to you, this will not be easy. This will not be peaceful. Many clans will force our hands in order to see reason. But there is reason. We are stronger together and the constant fighting causes nothing but pain amongst each of us, when we have a bigger enemy threatening all of us._ ”

She doesn’t need to speak out their name, everyone in the room knows the greater enemy is Maunde where every year dozens of Trikru and members of the other clans die or vanish. Some of them return, but unrecognizable and full of hatred for every former friend. They become monsters, reapers, killing everyone in their path.

“ _I am not trying to convince you of this, because you would not be here if you disagree with me. I am here because it is time to begin, but we need to plan out where._ ”

Everyone’s gaze drops down to the table in their midst. It is basically a map of every part of the world known to the clans, which are the central and eastern states of the former United States of America as well as south Canada, as Clarke knows. She recalled the rough forms and relations of water and land when she looked at this kind of maps for the first time from school back on the Ark.

The Trikru are to the east, their whole territory is covered by forests, apart from the giant glade where Polis lies. To the north it borders on Sangedakru, which is nothing but desert and a few villages near oases. It blends into the Dead Zone so subtly that it’s impossible to say how grand their territory really is. Northwest lies Azgeda, which is greater than any other clan, though most of it isn’t properly habitable due to the perennial winter, which is why its villages lie relatively close to the borders, except for the Ice Palace. In the west Trikru borders on Boudalan and Ouskejon Kru, both are rather thin but therefor long territories that are filled with mountains and cliffs. The only clans south of Trikru are Louwada Kliron, a relatively small territory that is technically a large valley, and Yujleda, mostly known for their farming and livestock. The only thing east of Trikru is the sea and somewhere in there the relatively new Floukru, but nobody knows anything about them, except that they do not fight with the other clans at all. To the east of Azgeda lie Podakru, mostly made of lakes, Delfikru, and Ingranronakru. The latter two are mainly vast fields. The last clan Trishanakru lies in the far southwest corner and is known for forests and animals that glow at night, which make it the brightest landscape by far.

“ _I have already sent pigeons to Yujleda, Podakru, and Ingranronakru, alerting them that I will visit them soon and try to deepen our alliance. They do not know the extent of my plans, but I expect their readiness to accept. They have been fighting by our side for years and never worded anything that might let us think their hidden desire to kill us._ ”

“ _And what if they do not agree to a coalition?_ ”, Indra asks with a tilt of her head. “ _It is one thing to ally with us, it is a different to join a coalition with you as leader._ ”

“ _War with our friends shall be our last resort. But if it comes to it, it is a valid option._ ”

The way she says those words, so nonchalant, so uncaring about slaughtering friends sends a shiver down Clarke’s spine. Even though she knows that Lexa wouldn’t particularly like going to war with those clans, she also knows that Lexa wouldn’t hesitate. She became Heda for a reason, after all, and it’s not for shying away from bloodshed. You do not have to like something to be good at it.

“ _The toughest clans to convince are Azgeda and their allies; Delfikru and Trishanakru. They will not budge without resistance. But I am certain that even they will see reason in time._ ”

“ _That will not be a problem. Killing Azkru comes naturally to us_ ”, Quint shrugs and Lexa throws him a glare that doesn’t just shut him up, but also everybody else who even thought about saying something similar.

“ _And exactly that is the problem, Quint. They think the same of us. This war has been going on for decades and no one even remembers why it started. We just continue doing it, because it comes naturally to us._ ”

The general drops his head in submission and suddenly looks more like his young seken that stands silently behind him than a great warrior, known for winning many fights and commanding hundreds of others. Clarke can’t hide her smirk at the sight and promptly earns a subtle shove from Anya who noticed the reaction, telling her to cut it out.

“ _We have established trade routes with Boudalan, and even though they are not our allies per se, I consider them friends. Since they suffer because of Maunde just as much as we do, I do not doubt they will join us peacefully. Ouskejon Kru and Louwada Kliron are harder to predict, as the past has shown that they keep to themselves, we have to expect some kind of resistance from them. Last but not least, Sangedakru hates everyone equally and therefor never allied with anyone before. They could afford it, because nobody wanted a field of sand with nothing else in it, anyway, so they were never threatened. Despite them being right next to our border, we have never fought against them, which makes it impossible to say if they will join us or try and defend their territory._ ”

A couple of nods are shared when Lexa is done talking, but it seems that only Clarke notices one clan still missing from the list.

“ _What about Floukru?_ ”

“ _They will be the first to bear our mark_ ”, Lexa says without waver.

“ _You are certain of that? Nobody knows anything about them. Suddenly they were just there, trading with us, but not fighting with anyone._ ”

“ _I am. I know their leader._ ”

That tiny bit of information surprises not just Clarke. It surprises every single person in the tent, but Lexa doesn’t elaborate, and nobody asks further question. They merely accept that the first clan to join their coalition will be the one nobody knows. But maybe that isn’t that much of a bad thing, because the clan is mysterious to everyone and the Trikru will be the one to have persuaded them.

“ _Good enough for me_ ”, Clarke says with a shrug but will drill out more information about them from Lexa as soon as they’re alone all the same. “ _So, we will travel to Floukru first._ ”

“ _Sha_ ”, Lexa nods and produces four wooden figures from one of her pockets, each of them has a different symbol carved into the head. They stand for herself and the three generals and she moves them around the map as she speaks. “ _I will move with Anya and her army to Floukru. Simultaneously Tristan will travel to Sangedakru and offer them our proposition - peacefully. If they join us right now, we have the first uncertainty off the table. Quint, you will stay here, close to the Azgeda border and secure it._ ”

“ _What?_ ”, he asks in disbelief. “ _I will not cower away from the chance of war._ ”

“ _We will not leave Polis undefended. As soon as word travels that our armies are on the move all around the clans, Azgeda will leap at the chance to defeat us once and for all. Believe me, you will have plenty to fight._ ”

“ _Sha, apologies, Heda._ ”

“ _After Floukru and Sangedakru are dealt with, we will join our forces and travel south. Yujleda will come first, and I expect them to be the easiest to persuade from all our allies. Then we will go north through Louwada Kliron and Ouskejon Kru. For the first time, war is a real possibility, but by then we will have three clans allied with us, and the more we are, the easier the others will be convinced without spilling much blood. Boudalan will be sent a pigeon after we are done in Louwada Kliro. They will be proposed to join the coalition and if they agree, we can encircle Ouskejon Kru and take their mark afterwards. Then, we will split. I will travel with a small delegation first to Ingranronakru, while a second visits Podakru and Tristan leads his army and warriors of the other clans to Boudalan’s borders, showing our coalition from the start that we protect each other. If Ingranronakru and Podakru join peacefully, we will advance on Azega’s allies. If not, we will lead the fight to them first. Then, only the Azgeda Alliance is left, with their clans being split from each other and surrounded by armies they cannot match._ ”

“ _This will take a long time. And a lot of blood_ ”, Anya says.

“ _I am aware. But if we succeed, it will be worth it. We will act like one clan, under one rule, with one army. That also means, I cannot act as leader of Trikru and the Coalition simultaneously, or the other clans will feel treated unjustly, and with reason. Instead, Trikru will be formally led by Indra from then on._ ”

Already there are some protests ready to be worded by the more traditional Quint and Tristan. The Trikru have always been led by a natblida. Giving it into the hands of red blood that isn’t even a fleimkepa is nothing short of blasphemy. But Lexa continues without giving them the chance to speak, knowing full well that they’ll object.

“ _Since the Coalition will be led by the blood, the Trikru stay in my hands either way. Every other clan will keep their leader, too, if they do not die trying to defend their honor that is. Think of the Coalition as a clan and the other clans as villages and compare it to how we function now; the clans will rule over their territory, but I will command them. Each leader will bear the mark of the coalition, binding themselves to it and the blood, and appoint an ambassador that will travel to Polis immediately to discuss the clan’s needs with me or whoever represents me in my absence. The same goes for you, of course._ ”

“ _Sha, Heda_ ”, Indra nods dutifully. “ _I already have a candidate in mind._ ”

Even though Clarke has clashed with the chief more than one occasion, she doesn’t doubt that the strong warrior will be a great leader for them. After all, she has been a very successful general two Heda prior and took Anya as her seken, before she became chief of Tondisi, the biggest village after their capital Polis.

“ _Why do we not just conquer them?_ ”, Quint asks after a moment of shared silence.

“ _This is not about ruling the world, Quint_ ”, Lexa explains, her voice isn’t as reprimanding as before, she must have expected this question to come sooner or later and studied her answer. “ _This is about achieving peace. And that is easier if we let the clans keep their traditions instead of forcing ours onto them._ ”

“ _And if we fail?_ ”, Tristan asks.

“ _If the coalition fails, then Trikru will be no more._ ”

Clarke closes her eyes as she takes a deep breath. She has long known what chances they will be up against, but it is still hard to hear them voiced. Lexa’s right, if this doesn’t work out, if any of the clans decide to fight back so hard that their army is defeated or if a clan they are certain to join will side against them, Trikru will be unprotected and destroyed by Azgeda and its allies. It’s simple; failure is not an option. And running away isn’t either.

She made a promise, after all.

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2144**

“ _You wished to speak with me, Heda_?”, Clarke says upon having entered the throne room and kneels in front of the leader.

“ _Sha_ ”, Aron responds with a curt nod. His voice is low, it has been for the last few days, as if speaking causes him pain. “ _Your Trigedasleng has improved greatly._ ”

“ _Mochof. Lexa teaches me every day_ ”, she still has a slight accent to get rid of, but otherwise her words are clear. In a year no one will believe she came from anywhere but Polis when she speaks.

“ _Lexa, huh_?”, he mumbles as he rises from his throne and walks down the steps until he stands in front of the still kneeling Clarke. “ _Walk with me_ :”

Clarke does as she is told and raises back to her feet to follow the Heda out on the balcony. In the natural light, she notices the change in his skin; it’s paler than usual, the caramel changed into a color that almost resembles her own, which is only that bright because she hasn’t been exposed to the sun for the first eleven years of her life any more than the generations before her. He’s sick, Clarke realizes.

“ _It is beautiful, right?_ ”, Aron inquires and pulls her out of her thoughts.

She turns her head and gazes across the city that lies to her feet and the woods that stretch beyond for miles and miles.

“ _I have never seen it from so far up._ ”

“ _Is it worth protecting?_ ”

“ _Of course_ ”, Clarke says as a matter of fact. “ _I mean, that is what you do. That is what every warrior does, is it not?_ ”

“ _I mean, is it worth protecting to you?_ ”

Clarke thinks for a few seconds about the question and stares down into the streets where people stroll across Polis’ markets. She has been with the Trikru for more than a year now, she found friends, she learned their ways, she lived her life in a way she never could before. And even though she still is considered a child in the eyes of the Ark, she used the time to grow up.

“ _Sha, it is my home and they are my people_ ”, she finally settles on. “ _If they need me to fight for them, I will._ ” She might not be a great warrior yet, but she will give everything she has for the people that cared for her and gave her a home.

Aron is visibly pleased by this answer. A warm smile spreads on his face and he lays a hand on Clarke’s shoulder, pulling her closer until she rests in his side. Such a warm gesture from Heda is rare and reserved for the natblida only, but Clarke has always been an exception to all these rules. In a way, she became one of them, she is only separated from them because of the color of her blood and the fact that Clarke will never fight the conclave.

“ _But you did not call for me to show me Polis, did you?_ ”, Clarke asks.

“ _No_ ”, Aron sighs and takes his hand off Clarke again. “ _The truth is, I will not be here for any longer._ ”

“ _What do you mean?_ ”

Is he talking about his illness? Is it that bad, something deadly the healers can’t figure out how to treat?

“ _I am no fool. I have enemies who seek my death and I know it is close._ ”

“ _You are Heda_ ”, Clarke says with confusion. Surely he is well enough protected from any harm their enemies could cause him. “ _Who could reach you here?_ ”

“ _A spy or a traitor. A man with a grudge. Someone I foolishly trust_ ”, he reaches into his jacket and produces a sword. “ _Did you ever ask yourself why I granted you shelter?_ ”

“ _Sometimes I wondered, but mostly I was just grateful_ ”, Clarke shrugs. She doesn’t tell him of the conversation she once had with Lexa, when she explained to her why they think she might be so important. And when she landed on the ground, she didn’t care about the why very much either way. She was just thankful that she wasn’t instantly killed like Anya originally planned to do.

“ _You are special, Clarke. The spirits sent you to us to fulfill a great destiny._ ”

“ _I am not special_ ”, Clarke whispers the words that she spoke so often already and will hear herself voice even more in the future. “ _I am just a girl._ ”

“ _You are_ ”, Aron insists, turns around and stares into Clarke’s eyes. For the first time since meeting him, she feels uncomfortable under his gaze. “ _You have learned everything my natblida have learned. When I am dead and the next conclave is called, only one of them will survive to reign._ ” He raises a single finger. “ _One natblida. And you._ ”

“ _Me?_ ”

“ _You did say, Trikru is worth protecting?_ ”

“ _Sha._ ”

“ _Protecting Heda is protecting Trikru_ ”, he declares and reaches out to Clarke, the sword in his hand. Slowly, the girl takes it from him and stares at it. The hilt is wrapped into red leather, the same shade as Heda’s sash, with a carved wooden pommel, shaped like a human skull. She pulls the blade out of the sheath. It’s made of two different shades of steel that form a beautiful pattern from crossguard to tip. In its middle an inscription is carved into the steel; Klark kom Trikru. Those three words cast a smile on her face, for it shows that Aron has truly accepted her as one of them. “ _I ask of you to do that. When I am dead, stand by the next Heda, give advice and your sword. Come peace and war._ ”

“ _Why me?_ ”, Clarke slowly mumbles, looking up from the blade again.

“ _You are special, Clarke_ ”, the heda repeats his former words to emphasize them once more. “ _You are guided by the spirits, you only need to find out what to do of it._ ”

Clarke slowly nods and clutches the weapon to her body. She’s still taken aback by the regards the Trikru seem to hold her in, as if she’s some kind of savior to them, like Pramheda was. She highly doubts it, but if it’s a promise she has to make to a dying man, she might as well do her best to keep it. While Aron returns to stare at the city, she takes it as her permission to leave, and retreats into the throne room. Just when her hand touches the door handle, Aron calls out for her again.

“ _One last thing; when I am gone, do not trust anyone but natblida_ ”, he pauses, before he continues in a quieter but even more serious tone. “ _The most dangerous people are always closest to you._ ”

A mere week later, the fire on Polis’ tower has been extinguished as Heda Aron is dead.

_to be continued..._


	3. blue moon

_The day Heda Aron died, the Trikru have lost their beloved leader and I a mentor. But when the flame chose another natblida to become Heda, we were granted someone with ambition and a vision for a brighter future. And with her leadership she brought a warrior with the will to do what needs to be done to ensure Heda’s plans and the Trikru’s safety._

_The journey was hard and ungrateful to both of them, but I am glad I was allowed to be part of it, to have been there when I was needed, to have witnessed them develop into the leaders they became, for they were what we needed. Not just the Trikru, but all of us._

_Luna kom Floukru_

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

“ _Dismissed_ ”, is the very last word Lexa utters when the meeting has finally come to an end.

It felt like hours of listening and talking, hours during which Clarke would’ve liked nothing more than to catch up on much needed sleep, but she wouldn’t give either of the present warriors the satisfaction of excusing herself. Instead, she did what Aron made her promise all those years ago; she advised her Heda. After the initial outline for that advance has been drawn, the deeper details had to be discussed; provisions, weapons, personnel. Going to war is not an easy task, not even when you’re trying to avoid any actual fighting.

Quint and Tristan are the first to leave the tent. Gustus is whispering something into Lexa’s ear who listens intently with her gaze resting on the map and figures scattered across the table. Indra squeezes Anya’s arm and gives her a curt nod, before she leaves as well, not sparing Clarke as much as a glance.

“ _Are you coming?_ ”, Anya then turns to her seken, an eyebrow raised in question.

“ _I want to speak with Lexa in private, if that is okay._ ”

“ _Fine by me. Come meet me at our tent once you are done, we have much to prepare._ ”

Clarke watches Anya walk after Indra, before she turns her gaze towards the whispering pair at the other side of the table. Not necessarily one for eavesdropping, the blonde takes a few steps back and acts as if looking around the tent, even though there isn’t much to look at. When Gustus finally leaves as well, he is the only one out of everyone else that has gone, apart from Anya, to acknowledge her in any way. His eyes meet hers for a second, before his head drops into a low nod which she promptly returns. No words are spoken between them, and then the guard has left as well.

“So, the Floukru”, Clarke begins without any kind of prior warning once they’re alone.

“I will explain everything, in time.”

“I just don’t understand. We don’t even know who they are and where they’re from, but you know their leader?”

“Clarke, I know it is not your strong suit”, Lexa says with a small smile, but her voice is almost pleading her to have this discussion later. “But you really do need to learn patience.”

To Clarke, it feels weird. Lexa doesn’t usually walk around the bush when it comes to her, but for some reason, she neglected to tell her that she knows the leader of the Floukru, a clan so unknown to everyone that it may exist at all.

“How long will I need to be patient?”

“I will explain it when we arrive, I promise. But not now.”

Clarke nods slowly, she can accept that for now. But together with hiding the truth about the young woman from last night, she has already found two secrets in Lexa’s life when there were none before. Or, none that she knew of. Two secrets discovered in the span of a few hours. It leaves the question of if there are more.

No, she’s reading more into this than there is. There is no reason to be suspicious or afraid. Just because Lexa hasn’t told her anything about it, doesn’t mean she deliberately wished to keep it from her. They haven’t talked properly in weeks, after all. Clarke’s training, Lexa’s duties, and the threatening war always keep them apart, even when the blonde finds time to visit Polis in between her lessons. But now they’re here, simply staring at each other, content in their presence as ever, and even though there are many duties waiting for them outside of the tent, Clarke uses the chance to reclaim some of the friendship that has been neglected during those weeks.

“How are you?”, is the simple question she settles on and walks around the table until she stands in front of the leader.

They are three words that don’t seem like much, but mean more than anything. It’s a question rarely asked to the Heda, as most visit her simply out of duty, because they’re demanded or request her aid. There are few who go to her simply because they want to talk to the woman underneath the leader.

Lexa sighs as she looks to the side for a moment before she answers. “Mostly tired. I have wanted this as long as I have been Heda, but now that we are so close to putting our plans into action…”

“It’s okay to be afraid, you know”, Clarke gently whispers with a shrug she hopes comes across as nonchalant as the words. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

“I am Heda, I have to be strong for my people.”

“Apart from the fact that I think Titus’s lessons of feelings being weakness is utter bullshit”, Clarke mutters rather strongly.

There is a flash of… Something in the leader’s eyes, before she averts them, but Clarke can’t pinpoint to what kind of feeling it may be connected. It isn’t fear, not quite.

She continues in a much softer voice and reaches out to squeeze Lexa’s arm. “It’s only me right now.”

She went to the very same lessons that Lexa had when she was but a natblida. Those lessons were usually held by Titus or Aron and especially the former has always been very adamant at reminding them of the danger of feeling too much. Or at all. Clarke never really understood it, she wasn’t used to hiding her feelings on the Ark. Sure, they had to be strong to survive in a tin can with borrowed time in the middle of relentless space, but that didn’t stop the people from feeling. They loved, they were scared, they cried. They didn’t hide themselves for the sake of strength. But for Titus showing feelings, or even having them, was the worst thing imaginable, and he passed that lesson down to all the natblida, including Lexa. When Clarke became Anya’s seken, the general made sure to knock that nonsense of lessons out of her before it had a real chance of catching any roots, which took her by surprise, considering the hardened warrior was careful to never have any emotions displayed herself.

“I am not afraid”, Lexa declares after a few seconds of silence, and it’s not just a phrase to reassure the blonde. It’s spoken with the kind of confidence you cannot fake. “I am concerned.”

“About?”

“If we fail, if we succeed”, Lexa says. “It does not really matter. Either way, generations of tradition end with me.”

“Sometimes change is a good thing. I mean, look at me.”

Clarke stretches her arms to the sides and slowly spins around with a goofy grin on her face, and when she returns to the green eyes observing her, she catches the smile on Lexa’s lips. It’s not big. In fact, most probably wouldn’t even notice it, but it’s a genuine display of contentment and maybe even a little bit of adoration.

“You have not changed one bit.”

Clarke’s arms fall to her side as if they’ve been smacked down. That comment warms her heart at the same time as it puts a dagger right through it. When Lexa looks at her, she still sees the little girl that she found in the woods, lying in her already dead father’s arm, covered in his blood. She sees the innocence and the happiness she displayed when she was around her or the other natblida after the wounds of the initial loss began healing. The clumsy girl that tried so desperately to be a part of them. But Clarke knows that she became someone else. She gave up her innocence in exchange for survival a long time ago, fighting alongside other warriors in countless wars. She has taken lives, and even though she doesn’t not care about it, it stopped affecting her a little bit with each mark etched into her shoulder blade. And yet, even now, having seen the blonde covered in the blood of allies and enemies alike, Lexa sees nothing but her friend in her, the young girl from the escape pod.

“Yeah well, maybe not at heart”, Clarke whispers, but even about that she isn’t quite sure.

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2142**

“Clarke?”, a voice softly calls out from the other side of the door.

Clarke hears it loud and clear, but she doesn’t answer anyway, instead she stifles a sob and brushes the fresh tears out of her eyes. It’s to no use, though, as they’re already red and evidence of her current state of emotions.

“Clarke, are you awake?”, Lexa asks once more.

“Yeah”, she finally answers, barely loud enough to get through the wooden door that separates them. “Come in.”

Three days have passed since Clarke was accommodated by Aron. She has kept to herself mostly, sorting through her belongings and organizing her small room. Lexa dropped by every few hours for a couple of minutes, before she was called away again, mostly by Anya, who still hasn’t spoken more than the necessary to Clarke, which hasn’t been a single word since they arrived in Polis. A servant of the tower brought her food when it was time and sometimes talked to her, but otherwise people left her alone. This is about to change now, though, as Lexa carefully opens the door.

“Hey, I want you to meet someone”, she says with a smile.

 _Great_ , Clarke thinks sarcastically. When people finally decide to get to know the strange girl who fell from the sky, she’s curled up on her bed with red eyes and a photograph clutched in her fist. It was taken on last Unity Day by Thelonious Jaha, her best friend’s dad; Clarke holds onto her flag and grins into the camera, with her parents standing on either side. She found the picture sticking out of one of the books, her mom used it as a bookmark.

“Or is it a bad time?”, Lexa inquires as soon as she looks into her eyes.

Swiftly, Clarke sits up and hides the picture beneath her pillow. She swipes across her eyes one last time. “No, it’s alright.” A little bit of distraction from her current state of mind might be a good idea, anyway.

“Great. Well, since our field duty is officially over, the other natblida arrive one by one.”

Ah, yes, Lexa has told her about that. Apparently, she and the other natblida are warriors of some sort and go with their fos, their mentor, on a one month journey every three months, where they learn to hunt, scout, and fight. The other two months they stay in Polis and train as a group as well as visit lessons with Aron and Titus. Lexa has only returned early because she found Clarke in the woods and wanted to bring her to Polis personally.

No sooner has Lexa spoken those words, a second young woman enters Clarke’s bedroom. She seems to be the same age as Lexa, maybe a little bit older. She’s also a couple of inches taller, and whereas Lexa’s unbraided hair curls slightly at the tips, the other girl’s hair is a mess of small curls and locks that stick out everywhere.

“ _Hei, Clarke. Ai laik shanen ai hit yu op._ ”

“ _Gonasleng_ ”, Lexa intervenes as soon as she realizes that her companion uses their language Clarke still has not learned any more than the short word _sha_. “Clarke does not speak Trigedasleng.”

“Of course, I am sorry”, the girl apologizes to both, Lexa and Clarke. “I did not mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t”, Clarke stands up from her bed and shuffles closer to the other women, trying not to look as shaken as she feels.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Clarke”, she extends her right arm. Clarke hesitantly grasps the forearm instead of the hand and waits for the brunette’s fingers to curl around her own arm. She has seen this kind of greeting often enough by now, to know how to react. “I am Luna.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“So, Lexa told me you lived in the stars?”

“Something like that.”

She stopped correcting the few people that spoke to her, stopped telling them that she actually lived on the Ark, a space station, and not in the stars. For some reason they seem to like their version more.

“How exciting. Did you see the whole world from up there?”

“Yeah”, Clarke responds with a smile, recalling the view from the giant windows on the Go-Sci-Ring. “It was quite beautiful. But it is even better to see up close.”

“I can hardly imagine that. Though I guess, we always admire things we do not know more than things we already have.”

“Probably”, Clarke shrugs.

“Will you join us for breakfast?”, Lexa then asks. “We natblida always dine together, and since you are supposed to train with us, you might as well share the rest of our routine as well.”

“I’d like that.”

They exchange swift nods and after Clarke swiftly puts on her boots, she follows Lexa and Luna through the halls until they enter a large room with a long table. Fourteen other children, ranging from age four to sixteen, are already positioned on the chairs. They’re sorted by age, which makes Luna, who sits down at the very top, and her twin brother Sol the oldest. He looks exactly like her, only masculine. His face is bulkier and his eyes sharper, but he has the same locks and swirls in his hair that is tied into a loose ponytail.

Lexa sits next to Sol, and since Clarke knows no one but them, they have seated her with them as well, despite her being a few years younger. Nobody comments on it though, and the blonde silently digs into the fresh food in front of her. The first time she was served the meat, she wasn’t sure if she should eat it. It looked and smelled like nothing she ever had before, since live stock was nothing they had on the Ark. But after the first hesitant bites she found that she likes the taste of the warm food much more than the food she had until then. Eating algae and other space friendly plants every single day is nothing that she’d recommend to people who have the chance to eat meat and fresh vegetables.

Clarke silently eavesdrops on the conversations. The natblida are told to communicate in English, or Gonasleng as they call the language, with each other as part of their training only. Luna explained it when Clarke questioned if they’d speak it for her sake, so that she wouldn’t feel left out with nothing to understand.

“It is sad”, Lexa says when they sit at the same table a couple of days later at dinner time.

Clarke gulps down the meat she’s been chewing on in order to answer. “What is sad?”

“That one day we will not be sitting together like this. That one day all but one are dead.”

Not sure what Lexa talks about, Clarke just stares at the older girl bewildered.

“It is how it is”, Luna then says, having heard the short conversation from the other side of the table. “Or do you doubt the choices of the spirits?”

“Of course not.”

“Sometimes, I do”, Luna admits, and suddenly everyone at the table quiets down and stares at the oldest among the group.

“Do not let Titus hear you talk like that”, a blonde boy farther down the table whispers. Lexa introduced him to her as Aden, he’s only half Clarke’s age. “Or he will shout bandragen at you.”

Lexa can’t suppress a chuckle, as most natblida in the room, and stares at Clarke, clearly noticing a joke she expects her to understand, too. Only she doesn’t.

“I am not afraid of Titus”, Luna rolls her eyes. “I am used to his yelling. And I am not blaspheming anything. I merely think that fight and death cannot be the only way to determine who leads our people.”

“Actually, that is exactly what blasphemy is”, Sol points out with a smirk.

“We are taught three pillars”, she ignores the jab from her brother. “Wisdom, compassion, and strength. How does the spirit reason wisdom and compassion in a fight to the death?”

“The flame choses the next Heda long before”, Lexa reasons with a tilt of her head. “When we show compassion and wisdom during our apprenticeship, it grants us the strength to win the conclave.”

“That is why cheating has no use”, Aden chimes in. “If a natblida that has not been chosen by the flame cheats to win the conclave, the flame rejects them.”

“And how often did that happen?”, Luna inquires, getting nothing but silence as answer. “Exactly.”

The silence stretches out for a few more seconds, until Luna stands up to leave the room and the usual chatter returns. Sol follows her out with a roll of his eyes and a mumbled _I will talk to her_ towards Lexa.

“What did Luna mean with fight to the death?”, Clarke finally decides to ask.

“When Heda dies, a conclave is called. All natblida aged ten years and above will gather in Polis and fight until only the one chosen by the flame remains”, Lexa explains in a calm voice. “The victor will then ascend to Heda and continue with leading our people.”

It takes Clarke a few moments and thoughts to compress what Lexa has just been explaining to her. “That means, when Aron dies you will all kill each other?”

“We will fight until it is over and all but one will die, sha.”

They will all die, Clarke realizes. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but some day in the future they will all be dead, all but one. And Clarke will be there to witness it, to see the people she got to know be killed.

“Do not worry, Clarke”, Lexa tries to reassure her and softly pats her shoulder. “Death is not the end.”

But it is. She’ll be left alone. Again.

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

When Clarke finally leaves the giant tent and returns to the cold outside, she’s very surprised to be met with Indra once more. The woman stands right in her path, her eyes firmly fixed on the blonde.

“ _Walk with me_ ”, she says.

It’s not a question or a polite request, it’s a demand that should be taken seriously, and so Clarke does. She loves bantering with Ryder, Anya, or Lexa, but she knows better than to do so with the former general. And so, she swiftly discards her plans of meeting with her mentor, and instead follows Indra through the maze of tents and burning campfires. They enter the village and take a sharp turn until they stand in front of the ruins of a house of the old world. The holes in its walls have been filled with wood and rusting metal plates, and above its door hangs a shield that marks the house as a tavern.

“ _Two mugs_ ”, Indra calls out to the innkeeper as soon as they’ve entered and moves towards a table in the far corner.

The room is packed with warriors, all geared up and ready to fight at any second, who try to catch a breath in between the fights and guard duty. Clarke pushes herself past them and is more than on one occasion the reason that a pint of ale is almost tipped over. When she finally reaches the table, Indra is already seated and gestures to the chair to her opposite, on which the blonde plops down.

They say nothing to each other, as Clarke has simply no idea what to say, and Indra merely observes the slightly nervous twitch of the blonde. After what feels like hours, the innkeeper brings the ale to their table and Indra instantly begins to sip hers. Clarke isn’t a big fan of the beverage. She hates the threat of losing control over herself due to the alcohol, but she’s also too wise to decline the offer of the chief.

“ _Lincoln came to me today_ ”, Indra finally lifts the silence without any kind of preamble. “ _He asked me to be exempted from his duties in Tondisi in order to join you in the upcoming campaign._ ”

Clarke’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. She did not expect that. Lincoln is a great scout and a very capable warrior, but only if he has to be. He’s no friend of the war, the fighting, and the countless killing. Why he would willingly ask to be put into that position is beyond her. And so, it’s the very first thing that she asks, with the confusion evident in her voice.

“ _He said, he admires Heda’s plans of building a coalition and achieving true peace and he wants to help accomplish it, but only under the command of someone worthy to the cause._ ”

“ _Anya does agree with peace very much_ ”, Clarke nods slowly.

The general doesn’t have a particular distaste for aggression and warfare like others, but she said that she will enforce Lexa’s plans or die trying. She also knows the story of how Anya and Lexa saved the scout’s life many years ago, so it does make sense that he wishes to support them instead of sitting in Tondisi, doing nothing while his brothers and sisters are out there, fighting for a better future.

“ _You misunderstand me, girl. He mentioned you, specifically._ ”

“ _Wait, what?_ ”

Now, that does surprise her even more. It is highly unusual for a warrior do be placed into the long-term command of someone of her status, she’s merely a seken, after all. She may be that of Anya, their general, but she’s still just a seken. She would order some warriors around to fulfill her duties, if they demand it, but it’s an entirely different story to have a warrior direct under her command.

“ _And I agreed._ ”

Clarke can’t do anything else than stare at the chief who deliberately sips her ale, while the blonde’s slowly warms under the touch of her hand. It takes her a whole minute of uncomfortable silence between them, before Clarke relearns how to speak, though the Trigedasleng words still escape her and she switches to her mother tongue.

“Why?”, is the very simple question that leaves her mouth.

 “ _He told me you lit the pyres last night._ ”

The blonde tilts her head. It isn’t really an answer to her question, but she has a feeling that the answer is more complicated and won’t be deliverable in a single sentence. “ _I did._ ”

“ _Why did you do it?_ ”

“ _I think you know that._ ”

“ _I want you to tell me._ ”

Clarke furrows her brow. What is her endgame here? She knows very well why Clarke did what she did. She is, after all, Anya’s seken, who has been trained by Indra. In a way, all morals and ethics that Clarke was taught, are the very same Indra values.

“ _If a general does not care enough to honor the dead and free their spirits, they’re not a general worth following into battle in the first place_ ”, Clarke recites the words that Anya once spoke to her. “ _I cannot expect those men and women to fight with me or follow my orders if I do not take the time to grant them my respect. Those men may not have been part of our army and I may not be a general, but I was in charge of the line of defense for that night. They died under my command. It was my duty to be there for them until the very end._ ”

Indra averts her eyes for a moment and sighs. “ _Two of those men were mine._ ”

“ _I know_ ”, Clarke nods. She memorized them all; their names, their faces, their families. “ _Ian and Korban._ ”

“ _Did they die well?_ ”

The blonde takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as she remembers the moment those two fell to the ground, lifeless. Ian was a brute of a man, always standing at the front line. He was charging at an Azegda warrior who, at the very last moment, managed to lift his spear and rammed its tip straight into Ian’s throat. He gurgled blood and clawed at the spear for seconds, before his legs gave out under him and the Azgeda warrior pulled his weapon out, only to ram it into his chest, delivering the final blow that ended his suffering. The same man then threw the spear towards them. Korban pushed another warrior to the side, saving that man’s life, but at a high cost. The spear impaled his heart, killing him instantly.

“ _They died as well as can be expected when dying at the front line_ ”, Clarke decides to answer.

Giving the chief the gruesome details of her warriors’ demise would do no one any good. And she keeps the fact that she was the one to avenge their death almost immediately by running her blade through the enemy’s neck to herself, too. It was the only killing blow she delivered that night, but it was one of the most gruesome since her very first. It’s already hard to stab a man through the chest and see the life leave his eyes, but it’s something else entirely to witness the head tilting off the shoulders, hanging on nothing but strands, after the own blow separated it from the rest of the body. She let rage fuel her that night, a foolish mistake.

Indra nods, seemingly content enough with the curt answer.

“ _I may not like you, Skaigada_ ”, she says, and spoken from lips her the title still sounds like the insult it originally used to be. “ _But I cannot deny that I respect the warrior you are._ ”

Clarke can’t help but smile. These are easily the kindest words the gruff chief has ever spoken to her, and they warm her heart. She begins to understand why Anya always says to her that Indra isn’t that bad company.

“ _I admit, I hoped for you to join us for this campaign. I would have loved to fight alongside you._ ”

“ _There is no need to suck up to me_ ”, Indra rolls her eyes. “ _It will not work anyway._ ”

“ _That is not my intention, Indra_ ”, Clarke responds honestly with a hand raised in apology. “ _But I have heard many stories about you from Anya._ ”

“ _Knowing her, they are probably highly exaggerated._ ”

The blonde chuckles, and another few seconds of silence fill the air between them. This time it’s more comfortable, though. Until Clarke decides to break it once more with a topic that might explode into her face.

“ _May I ask why you dislike me so much?_ ”

She gave up on asking that question when she was younger, but right now it feels like she might actually get a decent answer from her. And she is right. Indra takes another sip of her ale and leans back into her chair.

“ _Because you have done nothing to deserve better treatment than the next warrior. You fell from the sky and were granted shelter and lessons with the natblida despite your red blood. You were given to one of our greatest warriors as seken and are allowed to whisper into Heda’s ear whenever you wish. All because the fleimkepa think you may be chosen by some kind of legendary spirit. But even spirits need to prove themselves._ ”

If it wouldn’t be for the fearsome woman sitting across from her, the blonde would burst out laughing at the irony that the very fact that makes her disliked by Indra is the destiny she herself never wanted in the first place.

“ _I agree._ ”

It’s rather obvious that those two words take Indra by surprise. Her eyes widen slightly, before they narrow again and she raises her chin in question.

“ _Nothing but coincidences brought me here. I do not think that I am a greater human, guided by an old spirit, sent to be some kind of savior. I am merely a warrior, trying to prove her worth. But I cannot help it that I am befriended with our Heda. There were not many people around who talked to me when Heda Aron took me in. And since most of them were natblida, Lexa is one of the few I have left._ ”

“ _Well_ ”, Indra slowly begins.

If Clarke didn’t know it better, she’d say there’s something like discomfort in the way Indra slightly shifts in her chair. She was one of the many who, until recently, always ignored the young blonde, after all.

“ _Maybe the journey ahead will be just your chance, then._ ”

“ _Maybe_ ”, Clarke says with a smile and empties her own ale. “ _You know, after we have built the coalition and have returned, let us meet for another drink. You can tell me about your time as general and prove how much of Anya’s tales were fiction, and I can tell you about what I experienced during the days to come. Who knows, I may have proven my worth to you by then._ ”

There’s a long pause during which Indra simply stares at her, and Clarke thinks that she made a huge mistake with that proposal and ruined every bit of the short process they’ve just made. But then, a corner of Indra’s mouth curls up just the tiniest bit.

“ _We will see._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

When Clarke finally returns to her tent, its contents are already gone. The bedrolls are rolled up and her belongings are packed into her bags. Everything lies in the dirt at the entrance, and Anya stands inside as she begins to tear down the last pole that holds the remaining tent upright.

“ _You finally decided to join me_ ”, she grunts right before the heavy flysheet collapses on top of her. “ _I begin to feel like I am your seken._ ”

The blonde wordlessly takes the pole from Anya’s outstretched arm, dismantles it into its portable size and throws it on the heap of the other two poles, as the general climbs out underneath the mixture of leather and linen.

“ _Indra kept me busy._ ”

The short explanation for her delay causes Anya to pause in the middle of her movement. She straightens herself and looks Clarke up and down with a raised eyebrow.

“ _You are unhurt?_ ”

The question sounds puzzled, as if she expected Clarke to be nothing but a puddle of broken bones and bloody wounds. Not that she can blame her for thinking so. They have never stepped low enough to throw punches at each other, but the looks Clarke has received from Indra so far were able to kill on their own.

“ _She only wanted to talk._ ”

“ _Talk_ ”, Anya repeats doubtfully. “ _Indra. With you._ ”

“ _It surprised me, too._ ”

“ _What did she talk about?_ ”

They both crouch down on opposite sides of the flysheet and begin to systematically fold it into a relatively small pack. They’ve done this so often by now, that they don’t even have to look at each other for the steps, it all happens automatically and fluently.

“ _She assigned Lincoln to us as a scout._ ”

Clarke decides against telling Anya more than that. She doesn’t need to know about the details or the why, and as expected, Anya merely nods at the information without probing any further. She does, however, sense that that can’t be all Indra talked about. She could have said that to herself right after the meeting with Heda, after all.

“ _And what else?_ ”

“ _I came to a weird understanding with her._ ”

“ _She will stop trying to murder you with her eyes, then?_ ”

“ _I guess_ ”, Clarke shrugs in response.

Honestly, she has no idea what exactly that talk achieved in the long run. But at least she finally learned why Indra holds such a grudge against her and had the chance to explain herself. She’ll still have to prove her worth to the chief, but before now, she was never even granted the chance to do so. It is process. Very, very slow, but process none the less.

For Anya the unsure answer seems to be enough for now, though Clarke knows that her mentor will talk to Indra about this later. And the blonde is actually very curious about what exactly she’ll be told. She can’t think too much about this, though, as the general returns to business.

“ _Get the horses, I will pack everything up._ ”

“ _At once_ ”, Clarke says and walks off again.

The Trikru warriors don’t have that many horses, as they are more an obstacle than an advantage in the woods. The only warriors who ride them where ever they go are Heda and her close guard, the generals and their seken, and the scouts. A few more horses are used to pull the carts, but more than that is highly unusual when the army moves around the territory.

So, when Clarke arrives at the makeshift stable, there are merely a few dozen horses for hundreds of warriors running around. They’re separated into groups, depending on which part of the army they belong to, and the stable boys run around, tend to the animals, and prepare them for the immediate departures.

One of them notices Clarke walking closer to the paddock. The boy is barely twelve, but only a few inches shorter. He wears long leather pants, a thick coat and gloves, everything stained with dirt of various colors. His black hair is close cropped and his brown eyes are already very adept at taking everything in at once. She doesn’t know his name, but she has seen him around Tondisi very often.

“ _Skaigada_ ”, he greets her with a nod. His voice breaks like it is typical for boys his age. “ _Your horses will be ready in a moment._ ”

“ _Thank you._ ”

She only has to wait for a few more minutes, before the boy returns, holding onto the reins of two horses; a deep black stallion and a chestnut mare with a light muzzle and white fetlocks. Their fur has been washed and brushed and the way they happily chew around their tacks, tells her that they’ve just been fed, too. Clarke walks towards the animals and reaches up to softly pet her horse’s blank forehead, earning a soft whicker.

“Let’s ride to war”, she whispers with a sad smile and leads the two horses back to Anya.

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2142**

The sound of Clarke hitting the unforgiving forest floor is much softer and quieter on the outside, than inside her body. She lands on her left shoulder and grunts in pain - and not for the first time today. She stopped counting when she reached seven, so she has no idea how often the black stallion threw her off its back already, but if the pain she feels is anything to go by, she must’ve reached a dozen times already.

She always got back up and climbed the horse again. But this time she lies on the ground and clutches her shoulder. It’s not so much the pain that tells her to stay down, she’s just too tired and simply doesn’t want to anymore.

“Get up, Clarke”, the voice of her riding instructor calls out. Despite the commanding words, he sounds more concerned than anything else. “You will freeze to death otherwise.”

The girl sighs, knowing that he’s right. She’s been on earth for a little over two months now, and the temperature has dropped drastically during those days. In the northern territory of the Trikru the snow has begun to coat the world, and even though it is very beautiful to see the trees and grass painted in a clean, soft white, it’s also cold. And it’s still only the beginning of winter, as she’s reminded more often than not.

She takes the outstretched arm that is offered to her, and lets Lincoln pull her back on the feet. The force pushes another wave of pain through her shoulder and back, and she closes her eyes, desperately trying to wish it away.

“Everything hurts”, she mutters instead.

“We will take a break, then”, he says, helping the girl brush off the snow. “And continue tomorrow, or the day after that.”

“Thanks.”

Clarke grasps the reins of her horse, and gently tugs it forward, making it trot after her as she follows Lincoln back towards the village. She has been left in his care in Tondisi when Lexa and the other natblida had to return to their training with their fos. Clarke didn’t feel like being alone in Polis, so she practically begged Lexa to take her with her, but Anya wouldn’t have it. The gruff warrior still hasn’t spoken more than the necessary to her, which has been nothing at all since the day she was brought to Polis. Even on the training grounds, when the girl is taught how to fight alongside the natblida, the warrior chooses to ignore her. Lexa always promises Clarke that she merely needs more time to get used to the blonde, like she does with everyone, but Clarke doubts the day she’ll communicate with Anya in a civilized way, or at all, will ever come.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts as they return to Tondisi and head straight for the stables. Lincoln helps her lift the saddle of the horse’s back and then shows her how to tend to the fur, properly.

“What is his name?”, he asks as he watches her run the comb through the short hairs.

“I don’t think he has one”, Clarke says.

She went with Lexa to the stables in Polis and was told to choose a horse from a small collection of young and properly trained ones. Having no idea of the giant animals at all, Clarke’s only relevant factor was how much she liked the looks of the horses. The all black stallion has won by far, as his even coat shimmered in the light. But she was never given its name when she took it from the stable boy and led it towards the village.

“Then you should give him one. He will be your companion for many years”, Lincoln says with a small smile. “He needs a name.”

Clarke ponders about the name as well as the companion situation. She spends most of her time in Polis, a city packed with homes and people and no place for a horse to be ridden. What good is a companion that could never be with her? Except, of course, she somehow ended up being a warrior and travels the lands. But she highly doubts it. She is, after all, a girl with no experience in fighting and still very much afraid of a lot of things that are so common on the ground. She’s scrawny and, without the disrespectful meaning of the word, weak. At the training grounds she can barely hold up one of the smaller swords. She won’t be a warrior that needs a horse. But the horse still needs a name. And she smiles fondly as the perfect one slips into her mind.

“Jake.”

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

To get to the Floukru, they have to reach the coast. And since they set camp at a village near the Azgeda border, it means traveling through most of northern Trikru. They leave Quint and his army behind to secure the border, and Tristan splits a day after northward to negotiate with the Sankru. Five days into the travel, they reach Tondisi, where Indra departs with her warriors to secure the village and prepare for her new occupation as leader of the Trikru. Each of those days are filled with hours of walking. The time they don’t walk is spent with resting, hunting, preparing the camp, and ultimately sleeping. By day seven, most of them are grumpy, to say the least. And they are even worse to deal with when Lexa tells them that half their journey has been completed. It sounds great, at first, but then they realize it means there are seven more days of walking through the wilderness, though at least it’s getting slightly warmer with each mile of distance they put between themselves and Azgeda.

They are currently setting up camp near a small river delta. Jake and the other horses happily pluck at the ground for grass, just as thankful for the rest as the humans of the army. Clarke is in the process of setting up her tent while Anya organizes the patrol and guard duties for the oncoming night.

“We will camp here until the day after tomorrow”, Lexa says from behind her.

She offered Clarke help with setting up the tent, but the blonde politely refused. Even though Clare knows that Lexa doesn’t carry her nose high enough to be above putting up a tent, she is still Heda, and Heda doesn’t even set up her own tent, let alone those of others.

“Good”, Clarke nods. “Our people will be very thankful for the rest.”

Spirits, she is thankful for a break, though she won’t voice that. She has been traveling a lot with Anya during the last years but traveling with a couple of hundred warriors at your back is different from doing it with a handful people. There is more to keep in mind, more to organize, more to keep happy. When you travel alone, you can always call for a pause or simply ride through the night. But when four hundred people move, you need a schedule and not break it, or people might become unhappy. Well, unhappier than they do anyway.

“I thought, we could spend tomorrow together”, Lexa suggests.

The blonde stops with what she’s doing and turns around to something very rare; a young Heda that looks unsure and maybe even slightly nervous. But Clarke smiles at the idea.

“I’d like that.”

“Wonderful”, the leader smiles and drops her head slightly. “I will return to my duties and see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Lexa.”

Clarke stares after her friend, trying to shake off the feeling of longing she has whenever she watches her walk away and instead concentrates on the thought of tomorrow. A whole day spent with no one but her. The last time they had the chance to do that, be just friends, was long before the planning for the coalition began. Maybe even before Lexa ascended.

About half an hour later, Anya returns from the planning, though she says nothing to the finished tent. Not that Clarke would’ve expected her to comment it anyway. The general merely wishes her seken a good night, as she walks into their shared tent and heads straight for the bedroll.

“The scouts have been tough on her”, Lincoln explains the older woman’s behavior. “She spent most of the time shouting and seething.”

He followed her back to the tent, only to realize that his own has been set up as well, right next to the one of the general and her seken, though notably smaller.

“Clarke, you did not need to do that.”

“It’s alright, I was bored, anyway”, Clarke drops the topic.

Instead she gestures Lincoln towards a stool in front of a smaller camp fire. He cranes his eyebrow in question, but takes the seat nonetheless.

“I thought you might want to get rid of your hair”, Clarke explains, wetting Lincoln’s head with warm water and producing a barber’s knife.

He only laughs at her in agreement and she gets to work, shaving off the sides of Lincoln’s head until nothing but the strip on its middle remains, which she then cuts a lot shorter. It takes her some time as she cuts and shaves with the most care as she doesn’t want to accidently hurt her friend. But after a long while, filled with comfortable silence, she is finally done and brushes some of the fallen hairs off Lincolns shoulders.

“There, much better”, she smiles down at him.

“Do you want me to return the favor?”, he asks rather seriously.

Clarke begins to laugh as she sits down across from him, not on a stool, but into the dirt. She doesn’t mind at all though. The earth is dry and warm from the campfire.

“Spirits, can you imagine me with shaved sides? I would look like a miniature Gustus, but blonde. The only thing missing were the beard.”

“You know, I can actually see that”, Lincoln smirks. “Clarke with a long, woven beard made of wavy blonde hair. Every woman would swoon over you.”

The blonde snorts with laughter and playfully shoves his shoulder.

“You’re an idiot”, she mumbles, though the voice harbors nothing of the insult.

They sit like that, laughing and joking, for another hour before Clarke’s mind flashes back to what happened a few days ago. Maybe Lincoln is able to tell her something Lexa wanted to hide from her.

“You know Nyko quite well, right?”

“I do”, Lincoln nods.

Nyko is the highest-ranking healer of Tondisi, one of the most respected in his art of curing people and tending to their wounds as well as one can in a world without any modern equipment. Though he doesn’t join the war himself, he taught many of the healers that do, regardless of which general they server under.

“Do you know his apprentices, too?”

“Some of them. Why?”

“I’m looking for a healer, but I don’t know her name”, it’s not a lie, but she feels a bit bad to use her friend to gain knowledge anyway. “About my height, bit older, smooth brown hair and amber eyes.”

“Could be Costia”, he offers.

“Costia.”

So that’s the name of the mysterious young woman that visited Lexa right after the Heda arrived at the war camp, in the middle of the night.

“She is a nice girl, quick learner with a good heart. Maybe too good a heart.”

“What do you mean?”

“I do not doubt her inner strength, but she is not born for war, she is too kind for those horrors.”

“Many people said that about me, too”, Clarke reminds him.

Not rarely people told her that she wasn’t fit to become a warrior. Too soft, too kind, too sweet they called her. And even though she thought so herself for a long time, it didn't hinder her in any way from trying. Just because a warrior has a kind heart, it doesn’t make them bad at fighting. She wanted to be a part of them and she showed them as she became a seken and proved that she wasn’t that bad at war after all. Though she isn’t quite sure if that’s actually a good thing.

 

.oOo.

 

It’s the first day in what feels like forever that Clarke is allowed to sleep in. There is no horn sounding to wake her up, no threat of an attacking Azgeda scout, and no general staring at her until she opens her eyes.

No, when the blonde raises from her slumber, the sun has already risen and is on its way to reach the zenith. She yawns and stretches as she turns around in her bedroll, tucking the fur closer to her chin in the process, and faces a still very much asleep Anya.

The general’s unbraided hair is spread everywhere as she lies flat on her stomach, her face turned towards Clarke. Her mouth hangs open and she drools a bit as she softly snores. She has her arm wrapped tightly around her sword, practically snuggling with the deadly weapon. The usually gruff and hardened woman looks calm and peaceful. Altogether it’s rather cute.

Normally, Clarke would wake her, but she refrains from it. The way she acted yesterday after setting up camp, she really needs this sleep. Also, nothing should happen so far away from the border anyway, at least nothing the scouts and guards couldn’t handle without orders from their general. As quiet as possible Clarke pushes the fur off her body, shuddering as the cold air hits her mostly naked skin. Her feet, legs, and arms are all bare. She only wears a pair of underpants and a thin shirt. No matter the temperature, if sleeping in a bedroll you should always wear as little as possible or you drench your clothes in sweat and your body temperature cools down even more. But that doesn’t make the first moment away from the warm bedroll particularly pleasant.

She crouches over to the clothes she wore yesterday and sniffs at them, recoiling immediately. She definitely must wash them as soon as they reach the Floukru. She would do so now, but its leather and fur take too long to dry, and she won’t be traveling the next few days in wet clothes. No, as much as she dislikes it, she’d rather continue her clothes to smell like this. And even if she were to get them dry in time, they’d just smell of fire again, it would change nothing.

She packs her backpack with things she’ll need and straps her sword to her back as well. She doesn’t expect any danger for the day, but she will not leave her weapon behind either. With a last glance at the resting general, she leaves the tent and looks up into the clouded sky hidden behind the green of the forest.

“Good morning”, Lincoln greets her from where he sits at the fire.

“Morning”, she smiles at him. “If Anya ever decides to return to the world of the consciousness, tell her I’m with Lexa, yeah?”

“Sure.”

She hates leaving him back like this. He’s not used to being around the army but Clarke also won’t waste any more minutes of the day she’s supposed to spend with Lexa. She practically runs the short distance to the biggest tent in the camp, greeting the warriors in passing.

“ _You are awfully happy_ ”, Ryder complains as soon as he sees her.

“ _Today is a good day, Ryder. And not even you can change that._ ”

“ _I will take that as a challenge._ ”

The blonde only laughs and pushes the curtain aside to enter the tent.

Inside is no one but Lexa, who sits at a table and writes something on a small piece of paper, but before Clarke can come close enough to distinguish the words, she already rolls the paper up and seals it with a bit of black wax.

“It is for the Floukru”, she explains without the blonde having to ask her question. “To inform them of our imminent arrival.”

She puts it aside for later and then stands up. She’s not clad in her usual travel or war gear, just a long-sleeved shirt and tight pants in the style of the old world. All in black, of course. The hair is unbraided and the face void of any paint. Her paldron and the red sash lie on the throne in the back of the room next to the long sword she always carries with her.

Clarke walks over to it picks up the sash, softly tracing the cloth with her fingers. It’s dirty from the long travel, but she knows that as soon as they reach the Floukru, it will be washed and returned to its original state. Well, apart from the corner that has been ripped off the bottom, but that has been years ago.

“You are still wearing it.”

Clarke can practically hear the soft smile in Lexa’s voice, which is only confirmed as she puts the sash back down and turns around.

“Always.”

No matter where she is, what she does, and what she wears, she always has the scrap of the red sash wrapped around her neck. Lexa gave it to her shortly after she ascended and Clarke began her duties as seken. It was clear that they would be separated more often and longer at times, so the older girl swiftly ripped a piece off the sash that has been unharmed and handed down from Heda to Heda since Becca Pramheda, and tied it around the blonde’s neck, covering the golden ring of her father as if protecting it so that a part of her was always with her. It’s one of the sweetest memories Clarke has of them as friends, even though it was shortly followed by a very outraged Titus. But most moments were.

“What shall we do today?”

“Everything but work”, Clarke practically begs. Too much of their time together was spent working, teaching, and training. “I’d love to go for a swim, though.”

“Swim”, Lexa’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. “The water will be cold.”

“I don’t care. I haven’t washed myself with more than a bucket of water since I’ve left Polis a month ago. I want to immerse fully, from head to toe”, Clarke closes her eyes at her last words. It’s funny how much one can dream about something so trivial.

“You can do that in warm water as soon as we reach the Floukru.”

“A month, Lexa”, the blonde deadpans. “My dirt stains feel dirty and even insects hide as soon as they smell me coming near.”

“I understand them”, Lexa scrunches her nose and chuckles softly at Clarke’s glare. “Fine, let us go and freeze to death in the river.”

The Heda vanishes behind another curtain for a moment and returns wearing her long coat and a bag slung over her shoulder. Clarke helps her put on the pauldron and secure the sword at her hips while Lexa hides her undone hair beneath the red sash, wearing it like a hood.

“As regal as ever”, Clarke mumbles, earning an eye-roll from the other woman.

They leave the tent and Ryder trails after them, though he is decent enough to keep his distance. They walk mostly in silence, only greeting the warriors who bow to their Heda, until they’ve finally reached the wide river. They walk it downstream until they’ve exited the camp and left their people behind them.

“ _Guard our belongings_ ”, Lexa orders him once they’ve put their things down against the trunk of a tall tree.

“ _Of course, Heda._ ”

The two strip until they wear nothing but underpants and shirt and walk closer to the water. Luckily it isn’t that windy in the middle of the forest, but the cold bites at her skin nonetheless and as soon as Clarke sticks so much as her toe into the river, she shrieks and jumps back.

“Fuck, that’s cold!”

“You sound surprised.”

Lexa smirks as she simply walks into the water. Her whole body shivers the deeper she sinks, but she doesn’t let it show how much the coldness bothers her. And Clarke isn’t even irritated by it. She’s far too transfixed by the ink across the well-defined right arm; three pairs of triangles filled with a single line that dances from side to side and swirls into an endless circle. Each of the pairs represents one of the three pillars of Heda. Yes, she definitely stares at the ink and not the dancing muscles right beneath the sun-kissed skin she'd love to trace with her fingers.

“Damn, get a grip”, Clarke mumbles to herself and clears her throat. “You can’t think about her like that.”

She closes her eyes for a moment and counts to five before reopening them, only to see that Lexa has turned around, the waterline already far above her hips.

“Will you continue just standing there or actually join me?”

The playful banter grounds Clarke once more, who rolls her eyes and walks forward again. She ignores the way all hairs on her body stand up as soon as her feet sink into the water. She’d love to scream out again, but instead simply grinds her teeth and keeps walking. She’s shuddering by the time the water reaches her knees.

“This was a stupid idea.”

“As you know I am not one for mockery. But I did tell you so.”

The blonde just stares at her friend in annoyance. She is right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Clarke has to like it. Her annoyed eyes soon transform into something different. Something mischievous.

“Clarke”, Lexa says in a warning tone, sensing the shift in the air. “You will not.”

Without warning Clarke rushes forward, the water splashes high at her body, hitting the skin like ice, but she ignores it as best as she can and throws herself at Lexa. Accompanied by a very unlike Heda shriek from the older girl, they both fall into the water. Clarke feels like her heart stops when her head vanishes beneath the surface. The cold is unbearable, and yet being wet and getting clean is such a good feeling, that she stays there for a few seconds longer before she practically jumps back up.

Lexa already reemerged. She has her arms crossed in front of her chest and frantically rubs her arms as she shivers, glaring daggers at the blonde.

After a while of walking and swimming around, it doesn’t feel that cold anymore, but their lips turn blue nonetheless, so they decide to get out and warm themselves up again. At least Clarke accomplished her goal; her skin is clean once more and her hair returned to the usual bright blonde.

They dry themselves with the towels they brought and dress in their former attire. Ryder escorts them back to the camp where they take a seat in front of the bonfire closest to Heda’s tent and void of other warriors. Clarke positions herself behind Lexa and combs through her hair before she begins to braid it.

She hasn’t done this in a long time, but it’s like riding a horse; once learned, you never forget it. When they were both younger and she wasn’t gone from Polis that often, she used to do it for her. The braids Lexa wears are too complex for her to do it alone, and she said she’d rather have Clarke do it than any of the servants.

In between the braids the blonde moves the hair slightly to the side and traces the smooth scar that runs from the base of her neck to where the neck joins the torso. Above it is another ink; an infinity symbol with a dotted corner that symbolizes the flame. Both scar and ink mark her as Heda. Clarke sighs slightly and returns to her former task.

When she’s done and Lexa looks more like their leader again, they sit next to each other, close to the fire with Ryder guarding them as ever from a few meters away.

“I missed your bright hair”, Lexa smiles as she gently tugs at one of Clarke’s locks.

The blonde chuckles. Most of the time she forgets she even has hair that bright. When she’s traveling or hunting she usually dyes it with berries and dirt in dark colors to blend in with the forest. Her natural hair is just too eye-catching. But now that she travels with a whole army at her back it won’t matter and she’s happy to just let the hair be its natural color.

“In a way I’m glad for this war”, Clarke admits.

“How so?”

“We haven’t seen each other in weeks. And even when I was in Polis, we spent most of our time discussing my training, teaching the natblida, or doing something else bound to you being Heda and me being... Me”, the blonde sighs. “I get it, of course. We can’t just put who we are aside but I’ve missed us just being friends.”

“What does this war have to do with it?”

“It means we get to travel together. We spend more time together. Even if it’s bound to our duties once more. It’s better than nothing. And we have days like today.”

Lexa smiles at the words and puts an arm around Clarke’s shoulder, pulling her close.

“Maybe after we accomplished our task we will have more days like today.”

“That’d be nice.”

They keep talking for another hour, just happy to be in each other’s company, until a warrior appears next to Ryder and whispers something in his ears. He nods curtly and walks over to the pair, softly clearing his throat.

“ _Apologies, Heda. But there is something that demands your attention._ ”

“ _I will be right there._ ”

“ _I won my challenge, Skaigada_ ”, Ryder then says to the blonde who merely rolls her eyes at him.

It was clear that this moment wouldn’t last long, but it was nice nonetheless. Clarke slowly stands up and smiles at her friend, signaling that she understands and is okay with it.

“I should check up on Anya, anyway.”

The blonde gives Lexa’s hand a reassuring squeeze, before she turns around and walks away.

“Clarke”, the word is barely a whisper, but enough for the blonde to stop and turn back around. “Happy Birthday.”

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2142**

With each passing day that Clarke spends with the natblida during the last month, she thinks less and less of her dead father or her mother, of whom she doesn’t even know if she’s alive. That is until an unconscious gaze towards the watch on her wrist during one of Titus’ more boring lessons doesn’t just remind her of whom it belonged, but also which day it will be tomorrow.

“Is everything alright?”, Lexa later asks her when they lie atop Clarke’s bed and stare at the ceiling. It has become a frequent activity for them, to just lie down and do nothing but talk, contempt in the presence of the other. “You seemed distressed earlier.”

“Yeah, it’s just”, Clarke begins and looks at the watch once more, specifically at the date display. “Tomorrow is my birthday and it feels weird without my family.”

“Your birthday?”, the other girl asks as if she doesn’t understand the importance of the event.

“Yeah, dad planned a party, he always did, every time. With mom’s birthday, too”, Clarke turns her head to Lexa and upon noticing the confused look, continues. “Do you not celebrate birthdays?”

“No, not every year.”

“I see.”

“What did your father plan for your birthday?”

“It’s the same every year. He would invite my best friend and try to get something special to eat, while we watch an old football match”, Clarke smiles at the memory of her last birthday. Somehow it was always this simple; just her, her family, Wells, his father, football, and some snacks. Simple but perfect.

“What is football?”

“It used to be a famous sport in the old world. You have a ball and try to kick it into the goal of the opposing team and”, Clarke stops midsentence upon noticing the very confused gaze she receives from the older girl. “It’s complicated.  And it’s the people who always made it special anyway.”

The next morning, Lexa comes to wake up Clarke earlier than usual, and she’s not alone either, but accompanied by Luna and Sol. They don’t explain her what’s going on as they drag her down the tower and through the markets until they arrive in a large pit where children hustle around playing various games.

“What’s going on?”, Clarke finally asks as they halt, and she catches some breath. “Why’d you drag me here?”

“I know we are not your family, Clarke, but it is your birthday”, Lexa begins. “And I, we, want you to be happy.” She produces a small bag out of her jacket. “Here is something to eat.”

“And here”, Sol says just as something rolls past Clarke’s feet. “Is a ball.”

Well, Clarke wouldn’t exactly call it that. It’s anything but round and the size is not nearly the same as a football, but the gesture is enough to cast a huge smile on her face.

“We decided it is better than be bored by Titus”, Luna chimes in.

“So, will you teach us this complicated football of the old world?”

And she does. Well, as much as she can, anyway, with only the three of them present, a ball that isn’t rolling in a straight line and no proper field. After a while some of the younger children join them, and the attempt at training the group in football turns into something more akin to a simple scramble for the ball, including fists and mud caked faces. But, like she said to Lexa yesterday, it’s the people that make it special.

.oOo.

 

**Present**

Finally, their journey comes to an end as the salty winds fill the air and they can hear the waves of the sea crash against the shore. The army sets up camp once more, and the warriors begin to relax, knowing that they will have a couple of days before they continue in their travels.

Clarke doesn’t have that luxury, though. She won’t even set up a tent, though she hardly complains about that. Heda will be accompanied by a close guard and advisors, whereas the rest of the army stays put, and Clarke is part of that very short list of people.

“ _Where exactly is the Floukru capital?_ ”, Anya asks when the group of six people walk along the coastline, further away from the camp.

“ _Far beyond the sea_ ”, is their Heda’s answer, not that it really answers anything at all.

“ _And how do we get there? We have no boats._ ”

“ _I was told to light the fire by nightfall and they will come for us._ ”

They walk on in silence with Lexa leading them. She is the only one to know the way, after all. Right next to her walks Gustus, his hand always resting on the handle of his axe. Anya and Clarke are behind the pair, and Ryder takes the rear, together with Lincoln.

Since the scout practically devoted his services to the young blonde, she insisted that he joins them for the meeting with the mysterious leader. Lexa agreed without much discussion, as she knows the man many years and trusts him enough.

“ _Remember, no one outside of this circle is to know anything about what we will see and hear in their capital. Understood?_ ”

All heads nod collectively when they’ve reached their goal; a stone circle with an unlit bonfire in the middle.

“ _Opposing this order will be considered an attack against me, you all know what that means?_ ”

“ _Death by a thousand cuts_ ”, Clarke answers reluctant.

It’s the worst death penalty the Trikru have, having the person suffer through the pain of as many cuts by a blade as they had victims before their life is ended with a sword to the heart. An attack on Heda is an attack on all Trikru, and therefore the thousand cuts are quite literal.

“ _I hope it will not come to that. Ryder._ ”

The tall guard nods as he walks forward to the bonfire they’ve all settled around and carefully lights it. At first it burns like a bonfire always does, there is nothing special about it, but after a few seconds the color changes into a bilious green.

“ _What do you think will await us?_ ”, Clarke whispers to her mentor.

“ _I have no idea_ ”, the general admits, though her eyes grow dark as they stare at the green flames. “ _But nothing this shadowy can yield something good._ ”

“ _She did not tell you who their leader is, either?_ ”

“ _No. I think nobody knows but her._ ”

Anya probably wouldn’t admit it, but Clarke can see the slight hurt in her features upon stating that. She has been her fos, the person to teach her everything, but isn’t even trusted with something that seems so trivial. Only that it isn’t, if this charade they’re doing right now is anything to go by.

Anya is right, this doesn’t feel good.

The sky soon turns dark and thick clouds hide the few from the starts. The cold returns, even though they’re farther away from the nearing winter now, but luckily the fire, despite its strange color, is still warming them. Hours must have been passed before they hear it, a soft horn from the sea.

Six heads snap around to observe an old boat pulling up to the shore. It’s a remnant of the old world, rusty and broken in various places, but it keeps above water, which is probably the most important thing about a boat.

Four figures jump off it, one stays behind on the vehicle. The first two stand back, armed with bows and arrows, ready to react if any of them were to try anything. The other two near the group who has stood up by now and repositioned themselves in front of the fire, with Lexa in the middle and guarded from both sides.

“ _Heda_ ”, both men greet in unison and drop to their knees.

Clarke would lie if she said she isn’t very confused by this. Those people are of a different clan with no allegiance towards the Trikru and yet they bow before Lexa as if she were their leader. Then she sees the answer in the soft light of the fire. They both have tattoos across their necks, their curved lines typical symbols of Trikru warriors. They are her people, or have been before joining the Floukru.

“ _Thank you for receiving us_ ”, is Lexa’s polite answer.

If she is shocked by the curtsy like the rest of them she’s far better at hiding it. Her muscles don’t twitch one bit. Though it wouldn’t surprise Clarke if she already knew the Floukru receiving them are former Trikru. Knowing their leader means she must know something about their clan as well. And something, anything, is still more than any of the others know of those people.

The men stand back up and hand out a vial full of green liquid to each of them.

“ _I am very sorry about the inconvenience, but we must insist you drink this_ ”, the left man says.

“ _What is in those?_ ”, Clarke asks, holding the vial up.

“ _Violet star_ ”, the second one answers.

Clarke doesn’t need an explanation, she knows very well what this plant does in high concentration. It’s a soporific, a very strong one at that.

“ _Also, you will have to cede your weapons. They will be returned to you as soon as we bring you back to the mainland._ ”

Gustus instantly takes a step forward, his hand once again at his axe. “ _There is no way-_ ”

“ _Stand down_ ”, Lexa interrupts him with the short command and an unyielding gaze. “ _We will do as they say._ ”

“ _Heda, I must strongly advise you to-_ ”

“ _We will do as they say, Gustus. They have no intention of hurting us_ ”, she turns back to the two Floukru. “ _Am I right?_ ”

“ _Of course_ ”, the left man nods. “ _We merely cannot risk for anyone to know of the position of our capital and compromise the safety of our people. No harm will come to either of you. You have my word and that of our leader._ ”

The Heda gestures for the men to guide them to the boat. They hand their weapons to the other two men, who put them inside long leather bags. Not even a single knife remains on Clarke’s body and she feels weirdly naked without it. As soon as they’re all seated, Lexa is the first to down the vial in one go. Clarke follows suit and it doesn’t even take a minute before the world around her turns black.

 

.oOo.

 

Even though the sleep was long enough for the sun to have risen again, it wasn’t resting at all. If anything, it only made her more tired and worn out than the two weeks of traveling she made to reach this place.

Slowly, Clarke removes the bag from her head and gulps as she sees where she is; in the middle of the ocean. There is water everywhere and no land in sight. The boat was moored at a giant metal station with people of all ages hustling around And also of all clans; she sees the curved tattoos of Trikru, the dotted ink Trishanakru wear, the colorful accessories of  Louwada Kliron, and even Azgeda’s facial scars.

This isn’t a clan like all the others, Clarke realizes. These are people of all over the known lands coming together as one, they are refugees. That is why nobody has ever heard much of them, they’re hiding from their homes and past.

“ _Well, let us go and meet our new allies_ ”, Lexa says when they’ve all awakened again.

They climb off the boat and are led through the maze of metal structures. Some of the people, probably all former Trikru, incline their heads when they walk past them. The rest merely stares at them.

“ _This way_ ”, their guide says as he opens a heavy door.

One by one they slip through and enter a long hallway at which end another door waits for them. It is unguarded, but its shere position says that something important waits for them behind it.

As soon as Lexa enters, she is embraced in a hug by the Floukru leader. The two don’t just know each other, they are obviously friends. Very good ones at that, since Lexa doesn’t just let anybody hug her, especially not in front of other people.

What Clarke sees as soon as they remove themselves from each other shocks her to her very core. She stops dead in her tracks and stares at the single figure that turns from Lexa to look at the blonde. This is impossible, and yet she recognizes her instantly. The wild hair, the soft eyes. There is a long since healed scar across the cheek she hasn’t seen before, and some lines that are prove of the four years that have passed, but the genuine smile is all her. There is no doubt.

“Hello, Clarke.”

And then, the slender arms of her old friend wrap around her just as tightly as they did with Lexa.

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2144**

News travel fast in Polis, and even faster in the tower. Servants chatter and the walls are thinner than one might think. Not even a day has passed before every citizen knows of it; Heda Aron has died. Not in war, not by a blade through his heart. No, it was sickness that took him from his people. He just kept getting worse until his body decided that it was about time to rest for ever. The very same day riders have been sent out towards all cardinal directions to retrieve the natblida that have been traveling the woods for their training. Three days after his death, every village of Trikru is informed of their Heda’s demise, people fall to their knees in defeat or shed tears for their beloved leader. Some grow angry, others afraid. But they all grieve in their own way.

When all natblida have safely returned, the ceremony is about to begin. Heda’s body is rolled into white sheets with red markings that symbolize the status he held in life. He lies on top of a mixture of straw and wood and two dozen pairs of eyes stare at the sad picture; all natblida, Fleimkepa Titus, Aron’s personal guard, and Clarke.

A lit torch is slowly passed along the bystanders, from youngest natblida to oldest, then to the guard, before it finally reaches Titus. He steps up towards the pyre and lowers the torch.

“ _Your fight is over, Heda Aron kom Trikru_ ”, the words are spoken in unison.

The fleimkepa turns around and faces those present. He folds his hands behind his back and drops his eyes in respect.

“ _Tonight, we grieve_ ”, he says before he looks back up and lets his gaze drift over each natblida aged ten and above. “ _The conclave will be called at dawn._ ”

Luna sighs heavily and closes her eyes. The day she dreaded has finally come. From tomorrow on she will live by one rule for the rest of her life. No matter if she’ll die or win. It’ll be kill or be killed.

She stands like this for a couple of minutes, facing the flaming pyre with closed eyes, barely listening to the words Titus utters, until she hears a soft whimper to her left. She reopens her eyes and turns her head to look at each person to stand in the line. Sol is as silent as she herself, making his peace with the current situation, but Lexa is not. She hugs a bundle of blonde hair close to her chest.

“I don’t want you to die”, the girl whispers in between soft sobs. “None of you.”

Luna’s heart breaks at those words. They’ve all taken a liking to the young stranger that fell from the sky more than a year ago and Luna is no exception. She has spent most of her free time with her brother, Lexa, and Clarke. Especially the latter two became quite inseparable. The blonde has been a nice change in the dull days of Polis’ life and training to become Heda. Her innocence mixed with the will to be one of them was always fun to observe. But now has come the day she’s dreaded since she learned of the conclave. She’ll have to say goodbye to all her friends but one. For the natblida, this day might be a sad one, but it’s a day they’ve been prepared for from the moment they were born. Clarke on the other hand was thrown into this world and told to just deal with it.

“It is alright, Clarke”, Lexa whispers as she softly brushes the blonde locks. “Whoever wins, we will all be with you.”

Luna scoffs inwardly. It’s a nice thought that their spirits will all stick around and keep the surviving natblida and Clarke company after their demise, but it’s also a blatant lie. Natblida spirits are not meant to linger where they’re considered weak. If they had been strong enough, Heda’s spirit would’ve chosen them, after all.

“Come, let us go and rest”, she hears Lexa say and looks after her as she leads the younger girl outside.

She will join them later, but for now, she doesn’t dare to move, her own emotions are at a turmoil with each other. She looks at her brother again and sees tears trailing down his cheeks. He isn’t strong enough to win the conclave as he has never been that great a fighter and he knows it. He’s already accepted his fate. She reaches out and puts a hand around his shoulder, pulling him into a hug and placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

None of them say a word, she merely tightens the hold around him and hopes she will not have to be the one to end his life while her eyes observe the dancing flames that have started the countdown to their deaths.

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

The door of the room is thrown open, the force with which it crashes against the wall is enough to hurl it right back and with a loud clang it snaps shut again.

Clarke doesn’t even know what she’s doing when she marches towards the figure that has turned around in shock upon hearing the noise. She reaches out and smack her flat hand firmly across Lexa’s face with so much force that it snaps to the side.

“How dare you”, she spits out and pushes her friend back, shoving her into the wall and holding her against it. “How fucking dare you!”

Her voice is loud enough for anyone within the next few rooms to hear, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t think. She doesn’t even realize that she just attacked Heda, a serious crime punishable by death. All that is in her head is the rage and anger she feels after discovering that she’s been lied to for four long years.

“All this time she’s been alive!” Angry tears stream down her face. “I thought that she died, I cried for her for days. She was my friend, and you knew she lives all along. Not once you thought about telling me?”

During the sentence her voice dropped to something barely more than a whisper. She doesn’t even expect an answer, she just falls back and drops down on the soft bed, sobbing furiously.

“I could not tell anyone of her fate”, Lexa’s voice is just as quiet, though much firmer.

She still leans against the wall, awkwardly looking over to the blonde, not sure if she should offer comfort or stand clear of her wrath, at least physically.

“So, I’m just anyone to you? Another warrior of your army, not trustworthy enough for anything you have to say?”

“You know that is untrue. You are my friend and I trust you more than I trust anyone.”

“Not with this, you didn’t.”

“If someone learned she walked away from the conclave, they would have tracked and killed her”, Lexa explains. “And if they knew I helped her…”

She doesn’t need to finish the sentence, Clarke knows how it ends. They would’ve killed Lexa, too. She broke the rules of the conclave; she didn’t just know that Luna fled from the bloodshed, she helped her escape. She protected herself as much as Luna with it. Just as fast has her anger has risen inside of Clarke, it disappeared again.

“I wouldn’t have told anyone, Lexa. I would’ve been happy just knowing that she lives.”

“I know, Clarke”, Lexa sighs and finally pushes herself off the wall to join the blonde on the bed. “But telling you was a risk I could not take. I never thought you would tell someone, knowing what was at stake. Sometimes people hint at hidden knowledge by accident, though.”

“You always told me that Silver lured her into the collapsing Warehouse. What did really happen?”

“Clarke”, Lexa sighs and looks away.

It’s clear that she doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t even want to remember it. The conclave is the darkest memory of a Heda, filled with killing their own friends, people they have considered family only a day before. But Clarke doesn’t want any more excuses. She looks at the young leader’s face, stares at the cheek that has turned a deep red in the shape of a hand, and gently strokes the bruised skin to coax Lexa into turning her face towards her own.

“Please. I need to know.”

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2144**

The day of the conclave the nine natblida of age are joined in front of the tower. Titus stands in front of the huge doors, his hands clasped together, and a dozen lower ranking fleimkepa wait behind him, with downcast eyes. The usually busy streets of Polis are void of any other human soul as they have barricaded themselves away in their homes, away from the bloodshed, for however long this conclave may last.

The natblida all wear their fighting gear; an arrangement of black leather and chainmail, as well as the traditional war-paint, and are armed with their weapon of choice.

A young fleimkepa apprentice walks along the line and hands each of them a small metal shield on a chain with their name engraved on it in Trigedasleng spelling; Aidrien, Roslin, Kira, Raimen, Silver, Okson, Leksa, Sol, and last but not least, Luna.

The oldest takes her nametag and stares at the engraving for a moment, before she puts it around her neck.

“ _Before we begin, the rules_ ”, Titus’ voice looms over them. They all know the rules, having heard them over and over again throughout the years, so Luna barely listens as the man continues. “ _The conclave is stretched across all of the High District, you may move around as you please, but not beyond. Who leaves the district is branded a deserter and sentenced to death with no further right to become Heda. You are not to team up as the conclave is meant to be prove of your strength as lonesome warrior. You will not show disrespect towards the other participants may they be alive or dead. You claim victory by being the last to survive and bringing all nine shields back to me. Help from someone outside the conclave is punishable with death for both_. _The first droplet of blood may be spilled by the fourth sounding of the horn. Has any of you any further questions?_ ”

When he’s met with nothing but silence, the fleimkepa nods and gestures to one of his brothers. The taller but equally bald man raises a horn and sounds it for four long seconds. Then he pauses and does it again. And a third time.

“ _May the flame choose wisely._ ”

Finally, the dismissal.

Luna turns on her heel and runs off after casting a last look over her shoulder at her brother and friend, whom she’ll never see alive again. Three of the younger natblida stay behind to get the fighting over with, but Luna isn’t that stupid. She will not participate in a fight with multiple natblida, out in the open. Though she is taller than them and has an advantage with her long spear, the younglings are vicious little things. They move faster and quicker than she. Once they close in on her, her superior range will shift into a disadvantage. One might not think it, but it hasn’t been rare for young natblida to win the conclave in the past as they’ve been often underestimated, and Luna will not be one of their victims. She may not agree with the way the spirit chooses its successor or that she’s here simply because of her blood, but neither will she be a circle on the future Heda’s back, a faded memory and nothing more.

She’s ran three blocks down south and turned the next corner left before the horn sounds a fourth time, signaling the beginning of the conclave. Luna swiftly looks around, but there’s no natblida near, only a fleimkepa observes her moves from one of the rooftops. She ignores him and walks along the street, carefully watching every nook and cranny she passes with a tight grip on her spear. Shortly after she hears another horn, though it’s a softer sound and meant to tell them of a competitor’s death, most probably one of those that stayed behind. The next horn is overshadowed by a war scream near her and as Luna spins around, she sees her brother rushing towards her, his sword raised high.

“ _Sol?_ ”

He ignores the softly spoken name and the evident confusion in her voice and instead lunges straight at her. Luna manages to dodge out of the way but crashes into a market stall in the process. Thankfully its owner took all the wares with them, but the stall itself has collapsed beneath the warrior’s weight.

“ _What are you doing, Sol?_ ”

“ _Fight me_ ”, he breathes out.

Luna doesn’t move, she lies still on top of the remains of the stall and gazes up at her brother bewildered. She doesn’t understand why he’d attack her. Out of all the natblida he chose to go after his own sister.

“ _Fight me!_ ”, he repeats when she still doesn’t move, it’s a scream this time, full of rage and panic.

He lunges his sword at her in a high arc and Luna raises her spear to deflect the blow, though not fast enough. The tip of the blade catches her cheek, slicing it open and she hisses in pain as she pushes the blade back and kicks at her brother to shove him away. She swiftly jumps to her feet, ignoring the warm black fluid that trickles down her face and takes a defensive state.

“ _I do not want to fight you._ ”

“ _Well, I want to fight you_ ”, his voice shakes slightly and his eyes are full of fear, revealing the lie in his words.

Suddenly, Luna realizes why he’s doing this. He’s afraid. He may have accepted his fate, accepted the fact that he won’t survive the conclave and become the next Heda, but he doesn’t want to die alone. He will, though, if any of the other natblida were to kill him. They will just take his life and his shield, and then walk on to the next natblida. But he knows that Luna won’t, he knows she’ll cry for her brother. He wants her to be the one to kill him.

“ _Sol, please._ ”

She never thought she’d beg for anything in her life. She never did, not with Titus, not with Aron, not with any of the other natblida. She did a lot of things to get what she wanted in the past, but she never begged. Until now.

“ _Do not make me do this._ ”

Much to her dismay, he ignores her words and swings his sword again. Luna deflects the blow easily enough and smashes the dull end of her spear against his head. There’s an audible crack as the side of his face splits open and Sol swaggers to the left and clutches his fresh wound. It’s slightly ironic how even injured the twins are mirror images, and if the situation wasn’t so dire Luna would joke about it. But this isn’t another round at the training grounds. This is real, and she knows she cannot refuse this, as much as she wishes to. They are observed; the fleimkepa keep their eyes on the streets from everywhere making sure nobody breaks the rules. With another swing at the blade she disarms her brother, scattering his weapon a couple of meters away. A third blow swiftly follows, targeting his knee, causing him to buckle and fall down. She has always been better at fighting than he, she beat most of the other natblida on a regular basis, but this is nowhere near a fight. He doesn’t even try to defend himself.

Luna drops the spear to the ground and crouches down next to her brother. She takes his head into her hands and guides it into her lap, softly stroking the dark brown locks. He looks so peaceful despite the dark blood running down his skin and the pain written features on his face.

“ _You will be a great leader_ ”, Sol whispers and grabs the hand that has stroked his wounded cheek. “ _I know you will do right by our people._ ”

Only when a small tear drops down her face and vanishes in the tangle of locks, Luna realizes that she’s crying. She squeezes his hand, holding onto it tightly, as she produces a dagger with her other hand.

“ _And look out for Clarke. She is too sweet for this world. She must not become like us._ ”

“ _I will_ ”, Luna nods and slowly lowers the short blade to her brother’s throat.

“ _Thank you. I love you, sister._ ”

They are the last words, Sol will ever have said, as Luna cuts through the skin and muscle beneath. She ignores the way his warm blood soaks her clothes and skin, but instead returns to running her free hand through his hair and rocks him, as if trying to get him to sleep. Slowly the hold of his hand on hers grows weaker before it’s completely gone and lifeless eyes stare up at her. From atop the houses, a horn is sounded.

“ _Rest, brother, for your fight is finally over._ ”

She presses a last kiss on his forehead before she takes his shield off his neck and carefully places the body on the stone ground. She doesn’t want to leave him behind but she has no choice. She’s out in the open, easy prey for anybody who might stumble upon her. She gets up to her feet, picks up her discarded spear and Sol’s sword, brushes her last tears away, and continues down the street.

 

.oOo.

 

An hour later and no other natblida in sight, Luna settles for a short break in a nearby warehouse out of the fleimkepa’s sight. There are wares everywhere, mostly food and drinks, stored in crates and barrels. Ten wooden pillars support the second floor as well as the roof and torches give the wide space light and as warmth. Luna climbs up some of the crates and crawls into the space between ceiling and box, so that she will not be detected by the others and lies down on the unyielding wood.

She closes her eyes and lets sleep consume her. The last day has been stressful, with spending as much time as possible with Clarke and Lexa as her friends and calming down Sol. She didn’t manage to get a restful night either when the thoughts of what to come entered her mind. But now, she drifts of into blissful darkness.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been asleep for, but when she wakes up due to someone braking open one of the lower crates, it has already gotten dark outside. Slowly, Luna crouches to the edge and stares down at the other natblida that raids the wares for a fresh fruit. She’d recognize the mess of braids everywhere, even tangled and bloodstained as they are.

She climbs back down, careful not to startle the slightly younger girl with any unwanted sounds and strengthens the hold around her spear.

“Hungry?”

At the single word, the figure spins around, with a blooded sword raised defensively in front of her body.

“Luna.”

“Hello, Lexa.”

The spirits seem content to mock her today. First, Luna is forced to take the life of her brother, and now she’s posed against the truest friend she ever had. Since Lexa is only a few months younger than she herself, she has known her the longest of all the natblida, not counting her brother. They did everything together, they understood each other with single glances and no words being spoken. She was practically her second sibling. And now, here they stand, forced to kill each other, and yet, they’re both smiling.

“You have been eager”, Luna nods towards the shields dangling from the other brunette’s neck. Including her own, the natblida wears six of the small metal tags.

“Not really”, Lexa shrugs. “I have met Kira about an hour ago, she was the one to survive the tower. And Ramon managed to slay Oxon before I got to him.”

“I see.”

With those five down and herself and Lexa in this warehouse, that leaves only Silver, who has always been known for being cunning rather than an honest fighter. She’ll try to surprise whoever survives this duel and take them out without much of a struggle. If the flame is fair in any way, it will not accept that kind of behavior as show of strength, though Luna never believed it to be fair in the first place.

“Well, then”, Luna sighs and adopts a fighting stance. “Let us get this over with.”

It seems that Lexa doesn’t have to be told twice, she immediately charges forward, ducking under the swing of Luna’s spear, and brings her sword upwards. It’s a simple move, but it still manages to surprise Luna, who barely escapes the attack with a step backwards and evades the sharpened steal by mere inches. She uses the second that Lexa has her sword above her head to kick her in the gut and regain her advantage of the distance. As Lexa winces and falls back, Luna brings her spear around and cuts the tip neatly across her left arm, earning an outcry of pain as the steal slashes deep through the muscle. Her superiority doesn’t last long, though, as Lexa lunges forward again and brings her sword down in a high arc. Luna raises her spear in defense and feels the blade crash against the wood in each of her bones due to the sheer force Lexa puts into the attack. Then there’s a second blow, and a third. With the forth blow, the spear cracks in two halves and Luna has no choice but to avoid the fifth attack. As she rolls to the side, she thrusts one of the halves up and strikes Lexa’s face. Some of the splinters break off and keep stuck in the other girl’s face, but she doesn’t even seem to notice, as she just takes another swing at Luna, knocking the other half of the spear out of her hand and far away.

Luna scrambles backwards and unsheathes the sword of her brother. It’s not her favored weapon, and she knows that Lexa is better trained with the sword, but she’s still the better fighter overall. Also, while Lexa is already wounded, Luna is mostly unharmed. This might just work.

She rushes forward and ducks to the left at the last moment before Lexa’s blade can connect with her neck. Using her whole body as weapon, Luna tackles her opponent, causing her to clash with the crates behind her and fall to the ground. The younger girl’s sword clatters to the wooden floor and Luna kicks it out of reach before she lowers the tip of her own weapon to Lexa’s throat.

The younger natblida closes her eyes as she accepts her fate, but Luna never delivers the final blow, she simply stares down at her battered friend. The right side of her face and her left arm are cut open and bleeding heavily.

Before she knows what she’s doing, Luna drops the sword and sinks down onto her knees, sobbing silently into her hands.

“Luna?”, Lexa whispers as she reopens her eyes and sees the mess of her friend cowering before her.

“I cannot do this”, Luna mumbles. “I will not do this.”

She removes her hands from her face and notices the dark blood all over. She knows it’s not just her own, it’s a mixture of Sol’s and Lexa’s, too. Her eyes are red and puffy, and her skin feels like it's cooking and freezing at the same time.

“It is okay”, Lexa whispers and dares a slow move forward.

She takes the other natblida in her arm and rocks her back and forth, the same way Luna rocked Sol into his endless sleep hours prior.

“I killed him, Lexa. I killed him.” She doesn't dare speak the name, but she knows that Lexa will understand. “He knew he had no chance, but he came straight at me.”

“It is okay”, is all she responds again.

“I almost killed you.”

“You beat me, Luna”, Lexa calmly explains. “If it is your destiny to become Heda, you-”

“No”, Luna instantly interrupts her and pushes out of the embrace.

How can she be so calm? She killed two of their friends and doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, and now that Luna almost killed her, she merely says that it must be her fate. Tears are still leaving Luna’s eyes, but now they look more angry than sad.

“I don't want this, Lexa. I never did.”

She stands up and looks around until her eyes find the sword she forced out of Lexa's hand lying next to a wooden pole. She walks over to it and throws it to her friend, but Lexa just looks at her like she never laid hands on a weapon before and doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Get up and end it.”

She’s afraid of dying, so very much afraid, but she also doesn’t want to live a life where she’s reminded by what she had to do to become Heda every single day. She killed her own brother, she would have to kill her closest friend. That is not a price she is going to pay to keep on living.

“No”, Lexa whispers, her eyes never leaving Luna's.

“I said get up!”, Luna shouts.

Slowly, Lexa raises to her feet and picks up her sword. Black blood runs down the blade, though Luna can’t say whose blood that is, probably from one of the other natblida. Or maybe even Lexa’s own. She walks over to Luna until she stands merely a meter away from her. Luna raises her head and closes her eyes, anticipating the blow the same way as Lexa did, who pulls back the sword and throws it forward. With a loud clang the blade connects with the pole and gets stuck in the wood.

“I will not execute you like a common criminal.”

Lexa reaches out and grabs the two tags that hang loosely from the older natblida’s neck. She yanks at them, ripping them from the cord and stares at the engravings. She closes her eyes for a brief second, then binds both to her own necklace.

“They have to think you died”, Lexa whispers.

For a moment Luna doesn’t comprehend what her friend talks about, but then it dawns on her. She’s letting her go, not just from this fight, but the conclave.

“I obviously cannot show them your body”, Lexa looks around and her eyes focus on the dozen torches that hang at the walls and pillars. “But I have an idea.”

She walks away, leaving a slightly confused Luna still leaning against the wooden pillar and throws one of the torches onto the crates, causing a slowly spreading fire.

“There is one problem, though”, Luna clears her throat. “It does not smell like someone burned to death here.”

“Not yet.”

Lexa yanks her sword back out of the pillar and holds the blade into the flame until the steel glows in an angry red.

“You will have to remove your tattoo anyway, this will erase both problems at once.”

Luna sighs heavily, but discards her jacket nonetheless, throwing it into the growing fire, to expose her right arm where the tattoo is inked. All natblida get it when they’ve turned ten years and therefor old enough to join the conclave. It symbolizes the three pillars. If anyone were to see this tattoo on her, she’d be recognized instantly.

“Do it”, she whispers.

She closes her eyes and there are few seconds of silence and darkness before it’s filled with her screams of agony and white flashes of pain. The smell is sickening, so much worse than at a common pyre. This is her own skin and muscle sizzling under the touch of the hot blade, and as soon as Lexa has lifted the blade from her skin, she stumbles away from the pain and throws up all she has eaten those past few days.

Lexa doesn’t come closer, doesn’t try to comfort her. She merely observes her from the distance as she waits for the steel in her hand to cool down enough to sheath it.

“Hide until the ascension begins, then sneak to the temple and use the tunnel. Discard your clothes and wash off your blood as soon as you can, nobody must recognize you as natblida, or you will be hunted down for treason.”

The fire around them has increased fourfold by now, and licks at the roof. Soon the warehouse will collapse.

“Why are you doing this, Lexa?”, Luna can’t help but ask.

She’s thankful, of course, but also knows that the other girl risks a lot with it. Her very own life, to be exact.

“Ending your life now would not be strength in any way. But letting you go is compassion in its purest form”, Lexa smiles sadly. “You were right, this conclave doesn’t prove anything about a natblida being a great Heda if we kill each other. We must honor each pillar the same.”

“I doubt letting me live is wise, though.”

“Only the future can tell us that.”

Silence stretched out between them, only interrupted by the crackle of the flames around them. Then, Luna reaches out and hugs Lexa close to her, ignoring the way her flesh screams in pain as her burned skin comes in touch with clothing.

“When you win the conclave and become Heda, I will owe you. Anything you need from me, you may have.”

“This is your blue moon”, her friend whispers and Luna smiles at the phrase.

Clarke has told them about it when she pointed out what the names Luna and Sol once meant in a language that died long before praimfaya. As soon as Luna heard that her name has been another term for the moon, she asked the blonde what else she knew of it. The blue moon is a second full moon within a single month, something considered rare and special. Her leaving the conclave is her blue moon, her second chance at living.

“Use it well.”

With those last words Lexa walks out of the warehouse and Luna can just make out how she raises her collection of tags towards a fleimkepa before she herself escapes through another entrance and vanishes in the streets.

A horn is sounded, signaling her death.

Her freedom.

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

Four years and five months ago. That’s when she saw her last.

“It is so good to see you again.”

Clarke just stares at her old friend. She still can’t believe that she’s there, standing in front of her, breathing, smiling. Very much alive. But she is. And so is Clarke, at least if she recalls how to breathe in time.

“You, too.”

She finally discarded of her assembly of leather and fur to have it washed and instead wears a thin long-sleeved shirt and comfortable loose pants. The clothes were brought to her by a woman she’s never seen before, but she bore the marks of Azgeda. Clarke was wary at first, seeing those scars does this to a Trikru warrior, but the woman was nice, meaning no harm, and so she accepted the clothes with gratitude and promptly wore them as soon as she cleaned herself up - with warm water, thank the spirits. Now, the only things she wears that actually belong her, are her boots and the red scarf that became together with the golden wedding band and her father’s watch her trademarks.

She stands, in a large room with a small table in the middle and a bed in the corner; Luna’s home.

“I just don’t understand”, Clarke finally admits. “I mean, obviously I do. You’re here and Lexa told me, but... Luna, I thought you were dead.”

“And I am truly sorry about that. But no one could know.”

“Yeah, I know”, Clarke sighs.

After hitting Lexa and screaming at her, she actually managed to calm down enough to grasp it, to understand it. She didn’t want to at first, as she just felt betrayed by both her friends, but that was how a thoughtless child would’ve reacted and the days Clarke has been that are long gone.

“You have grown so much.”

“Please”, Clarke scoffs with an eye-roll. “You’re still taller than me.”

“I do not just mean your height, Clarke”, Luna smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes though.

“I made a promise to Heda Aron”, the blonde shrugs. “I had to grow up fast.”

“Everyone in this world does”, the brunette sighs and sits down at the table.

Clarke follows suit, taking the chair to her opposite and silently waits for her to continue. When she doesn’t say anything, though, she’s the one to speak up.

“How did you and up here, as their leader of all things?”

“By coincidence, mostly. After the conclave I did not know where to go. I did not wish to end up in Azgeda or with the frikdreina in the Dead Zone so I went south. At one point I found a girl, Adria, in the woods. She was alone, has lost her parents to the war. I took her with me so we would have each other at least. Then there were others who fled from the fights and suddenly we were a dozen.”

“And you just wandered around?”

Many people live in the forests that don’t belong there. People who were banished for crimes or fled from something. But few got far, as nature is a cruel lady. Some manage to build a life far away from civilization, though.

“Until we found boats at the shore”, Luna nods. “They belonged to a couple of raiders who pillaged a nearby village. We followed them to this rig and took over, but I will spare you the details of how.”

The way she says the words tell Clarke enough of what they did to them.

“That explains how you landed here, but not everything else.”

“It just happened, Clarke. Somehow people learned there is a safe place across the sea. They waited at the shore for us to get supplies and then asked for shelter. We could not deny them. We grew so fast to a small clan and they looked up at me as their leader. I did not want this, but I could not let them down, either.”

“Do they know who you are?”

“Some”, she shrugs. “But they do not care about my blood. They just want to be safe. They are tired of war, as am I.”

Clarke always thought that life is about more than fighting to survive, but what would she do if she wouldn’t have to train, fight, and hunt? Even though she’d like to spend more time with her friends without discussing strategies, she wouldn’t know what to do all day, every day, if it weren’t for this.

“Anyway”, Luna continues. “Enough about me. How are you?”

“I’m fine. After Lexa ascended I became Anya’s seken. It took a while but she actually likes me now, not that she’d admit to it.”

Luna shakes her head with a small smile. “And Lexa?”

“She’s”, Clarke looks away for a moment, observing a suddenly very interesting old rust stain on the wall. “More complicated than before. But we’re still friends.”

“Just friends?”

The blonde merely narrows her eyes as answer, silently daring the leader to continue with her line of thought.

“I mean, you were close, you always admired her.”

“I was a child, Luna. She saved my life, of course I admired her.”

“You are not a child anymore, but still admire her. So, just friends?”

“Yes”, she sighs. “Just friends.”

Clarke hopes that Luna doesn’t catch on the slightly disappointed undertone in her voice. But judging by the smirk, she does.

_to be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of you probably did the math already, but I'll tell you nonetheless: The present is set in 2148 and Clarke has just turned seventeen, a year before the events of season one occur. And yes, they speak of winter by the end of October. Seasons have shifted drastically after the fallout and (in Destiny at least) the Trikru only use two seasons; Winter and Summer.


	4. born to be more

_I have to admit, I wanted to kill her many times after you told me to take her as seken. Spirits, I wanted to kill you for uttering those words. I could not stand her and her foreign self. That she was able to speak Trigedasleng and knew our traditions by then did not change that. But the longer I trained with her, the longer she fought alongside me… In a way, I see myself in her from long before I became general in your army. So wild and relentless. So stubborn and rebellious. What can I say, she grew on me. Like a fungus, but still._

_All joking aside, I think that you and Heda Aron may have been right after all. As much as it hurts to admit, there is something about her, she is destined for great. I do not know if she is the old spirit of death as Aron thought or simply a normal human like the rest of us but with a keen mind for tactics and warfare as well as the will to survive whatever fate throws at her. Either way I am glad she fights for us - Fights for you. Just do us all a favor and make sure it stays that way. I doubt we can afford were she ever to become our enemy._

_Anya kom Trikru_

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

Clarke sighs as she gazes across the valley to her feet. She stands on the brink of a cliff, a mere meter away from the abyss. One false step, a stumble, a harsh wind blast and she’ll fall to her certain death. But she’s not afraid one bit as she watches the brown trees below shed off their last leaves and prepare for the cold winter. Birds chirp happily as they fly across the sea of wood or hop from branch to branch. There are some deer jumping through the bushes, running away from a panther that stalks them far away.

The blonde can’t help but smile. Out here, the world is so peaceful and in harmony. There is no sign of the war that rages miles north at the border. There are no dying warriors, no cries of children left behind, no screams of agony. It’s amazing how a place this calm can exist in a world filled to the brim with death and destruction.

“Clarke.”

She spins around at the harsh whisper with her hand wrapped around the hilt of her sword, but there’s no one there. In front of her a sea of grass stretches on for miles with nothing between her and the blue horizon. Is the mind playing tricks on her? She hasn’t eaten properly for days, she may be hallucinating already. She releases a breath she didn’t even realize she held in the first place and loosens the grip around the sword.

It’s only when she hears Jake’s soft whicker that she realizes that something’s far from right. After six years of caring for the black stallion she learned that her faithful companion makes noises when he’s distressed, and only then. She reaches out and softly nuzzles his jaw to calm him, but his restlessness only increases.

When her eyes move across the valley again, she notices that not only Jake senses a shift in the air. The birds have stopped their chirps altogether and sit atop the trees. The deer stopped running away from the panther and instead stare into the sky. The world around is quiet. Way too quiet. Clarke follows the animals’ line of sight and is instantly shocked by what she sees.

Starting in the midst of a single cloud the sky has turned black, and it’s spreading rapidly until it stretches to the horizon on all sides, blocking out the sun and turning day into night. Then, darkness shifts back to light, as the sky itself catches fire and breaks apart. The animals shriek and flee in panic but are hindered by the giant wall of stone and dirt. The burning debris falls down and crashes into the valley, setting flora and fauna alike on fire. The smell of smoke and death fills Clarke’s nostrils once more as she hears the sounds of dying life.

“Clarke!”

There is that voice again, the same as before, but louder, like a warning. And this time, when Clarke turns around, she stares into the face of a woman; familiar and yet unrecognizable to her. She’s older than herself, the face thinner and the brown eyes full of worry. Her hair is of chestnut color and pulled back into a loose ponytail. She wears a battered jacket over a dark tee and tight pants as well as old boots that seem to be just a bit too big for her slender feet. And she’s covered in blood, from head to toe. She reaches out and grasps Clarke’s arm. She can feel the touch on her skin as if there were no leather or fur between them and she even feels the warm blood drip down her arm.

“We must leave.”

Clarke doesn’t listen to the plea, she doesn’t move. She merely averts her eyes and observes the scenery in front of her. There are bodies, hundreds of them, littered with bullet wound, sword slashes, and burns. They are swimming in a sea of blood, drifting towards the edge of the cliff and down the red waterfall.

“Who did this?”, Clarke whispers into the silent darkness.

She is granted no answer. The stranger has vanished yet again, and all Clarke sees is the pile of bodies that seems to be growing.

“Listen to your mother”, a male voice urges from behind.

The blonde turns to its origin and stares at none other than her father, covered in blood as well, with eyes that have been long dead. She knows she should obey, but she can’t bring her feet to move, instead she feels something on her hand and looks down at the trembling fingers that hold a gun still smoldering from being fired recently. Instantly she drops the forbidden weapon and jumps a step back, crashing into something. No, someone.

“ _Traitor._ ”

The short insult is whispered and there’s already cold steel against her throat before she can move. The sharpened blade slices through skin and muscle with ease.

Clarke can’t do anything but splutter as she clutches her own neck, desperately trying to keep the blood inside where it’s needed, to keep breathing, keep living. Searching for her murderer she turns and stares at someone she would not have expected; herself, flanked by Lexa, Anya, Lincoln, and Indra. All of them stare at her with anger in their eyes. And the blade that has cut her is tainted not in red, but in black.

She cannot really contemplate about why her blood has the color of night, though, as she falls to her knees. Only that there is no ground, but the end of the cliff and the black abyss rushes closer and closer, swallowing her screams.

 

.oOo.

 

“ _You are up early._ ”

Clarke sighs. She has listened to the waves crashing against the steel below for what feels like hours, with the cold wind hitting her face. Her lips have turned blue by now, but she feels strangely content here, despite the biting cold.

“ _I could not sleep_.”

“ _Nightmare?_ ”, Anya guesses.

The blonde nods as answer, her eyes never leaving the horizon where the sun has just begun to rise, tainting the world around various shades of pink and orange.

“ _You did not have nightmares in years._ ”

Anya’s voice is low so that no one might overhear their conversation. She leans with her back against the railing, close enough to Clarke that their shoulders brush.

The last time she had a nightmare was during the trial she had to pass after her first year as Anya’s seken. And it was a nightmare induced by a very strong hallucinogen. Afterwards nothing could shake her hard enough to dream about it. In fact, she didn’t dream about anything at all, which is even worse in its own way. Not even when she killed or nearly died herself. Not when she saw villages burn or children die crying. But for some reason, her mind decided that it’s time to return to the nights she wakes up in cold sweat and fear etched on their skin.

“ _No_ ”, Clarke agrees. “ _Do you think what we dream about has meaning?_ ”

“ _I think, a dream can tell you a lot about your mind. It can show your desires and fears, it can remind what has been and predict what is to come_ ”, Anya sighs and runs a hand through her unbraided hair. “ _Or it can mean nothing at all._ ”

“ _That is hardly helpful_ ”, she remarks, earning nothing but a smirk as response. “ _It felt so real._ ”

“ _What happened?_ ”

Clarke hesitates and drops her head into her arms. She never really told Anya of her nightmares when she was younger. Back then, the general was more standoffish towards her. When Clarke woke up screaming in their shared tent, the older woman wouldn’t come over to calm her down, but instead threaten to murder her in her sleep if she woke her up again. Obviously, their interactions with each other have changed over time. Anya cares about her, or she wouldn’t have asked in the first place.

And so, after a short moment of silence, Clarke retells her dream. She begins with the cliff and the valley, the picture of peace and freedom, and explains how it turned into a field of death and agony. She speaks of the gun in her hand and the black blood inside her veins, as well as the stranger that was so familiar in the dream.

“ _I think it was my mother._ ”

“ _You think?_ ”

“ _I hardly remember her_ ”, Clarke admits with a sad shrug.

She had a photograph of her original family when she first came down to earth, but she lost it to a fire after becoming seken. The only pictures she has left of her parents are the sketches in her journal, but they are copies of her mind. Who can say how close to reality they are?

“ _There is no shame in that_ ”, Anya reassures her. “ _I have a hard time remembering my parents. Lexa does not even know her parents’ names._ ”

There is not much news to Clarke in that sentence. Lexa has been taken from her family and brought to Polis when she was discovered to be a natblida at very young age. And Anya once told her, she lost her parents to the war when she was eight and lived with Indra ever since.

“ _But what if there is a day my mother comes to the ground and I do not recognize her?_ ”

“ _She will recognize you_.”

“ _I doubt it. I have changed a lot._ ”

“ _A mother always recognizes her child, no matter how much time has passed_ ”, Anya smiles at the blonde. “ _If your mother is somewhere out there, still alive, I doubt there was a day in the past six years that she has not thought about you._ ”

“ _How would you know?_ ”

“ _Because there is not a day Indra does not think of Gaia._ ”

She hasn’t really thought about her family lately. The more years passed, the more they drifted towards the back of her mind. But somehow her nightmare put them back to the front, together with other very disturbing thoughts.

“ _Get some rest, Clarke_ ”, Anya says and reaches out to squeeze her arm. “ _The ritual will start at sunset. It would not look good if you fall asleep in the middle of it._ ”

With those words, the general walks away, leaving Clarke alone once more, lost within her own mind.

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2145**

Clarke stares out of a window in the tower of Polis. It’s the middle of the day and the streets are busy with people from the outer villages trading their food for clothes and other products. The wind is mild, not the biting cold that it was a few weeks ago and the snow has retreated beyond the Azgeda border completely. Today, Clarke will leave the capitol again, to travel from village to village with Anya. Her fos.

A lot has changed in the short year since Heda Aron died. Not only has Lexa ascended to Heda and all remaining natblida aged ten and above have met their cruel fate, but Anya, newest general of the Trikru army, was ordered to mentor Clarke. Much to both their dismay. Whereat Anya always looked at the young blonde as if she’d kill her any second, the blonde was steadily afraid because she knew that Anya might very well do just that. The only thing that kept her safe was Lexa’s wishes.

“She does not hate you”, Lexa says from behind.

They are in Lexa’s office with the young leader sitting behind her desk, going over maps and letters, and Clarke staring out the window in silence. She doesn’t answer, they’ve had this argument more often than not and they both know all the points the other would make.

“What’s that?”, Clarke asks after turning around.

Lexa has been staring at a single letter for a couple of seconds, a small smile creeping up her face.

“What?”

“The letter”, the blonde nods towards the object in the leader’s hand. “You smile reading it.”

“Oh”, is all she offers as she folds the paper and tucks it away. “It is of no importance for now.”

Clarke drops her eyes to the letter again, before returning them to her friend, earning a slight chuckle.

“I will tell you another time. You must learn patience, Clarke.”

“I’ve learned much patience with Anya. Most of the time I wait for her to kill me.”

“And again, she does not wish to kill you”, Lexa emphasizes, then after a short pause continues with a smirk. “Anymore.”

“The day you watch my body burn my spirit will return to you to say: I told you so.”

“And I will gladly respond with; mockery is-”

“Not the product of a strong mind”, Clarke interrupts her with a dismissive handwave. “I know, I know.”

They just stare at each other for a few more seconds. Times like these have become a rare occurrence. Lexa is occupied with her duties as Heda most of the time, while Clarke travels the woods, following her mentor. They don’t often get to be together as friends and nothing else. And when they do, it’s only for a short time. As now, the young blonde realizes with a long sigh.

“I’ve got to go. Don’t want to let her wait.”

“Of course”, Lexa’s lips are curled into a sad smile and she pulls her friend into a tight hug. “Take care, Clarke.”

“You too.”

 

.oOo.

 

Lucky for Clarke, Anya hasn’t arrived at the stables yet, giving the blonde enough time to saddle their horses. When she finally arrives, no words are spoken, they just mount the tall animals and ride out of the capital into the thick woods.

“ _You will take the trial_ ”, Anya eventually says when they set up camp for the night.

Clarke nearly drops the pole she holds as her head shoots up and her eyes widen.

“ _Right now?_ ”

Anya told her about the trial before. It’s something every seken has to do at least once in their training to become a warrior. No two trials are the same, but the rules always are. And simple, too. The seken will be left alone in the forest for a full week, no support from their fos and with only enough supplies left to last for a day. The seken has to hunt their own food, find shelter, fight off predators, maybe even enemies. And on the seventh day, they have to reach a village. As for how to win the trial. there are only two options. Either you pass, or you die.

“ _No. In three days, after we have traveled further into the woods._ ”

 _Of course_ , Clarke thinks. She wants them to be in a region that is unfamiliar to Clarke, to make the trial harder.

“ _And you think I am ready?_ ”

Anya doesn’t say a word, she merely stares at her from the fire she just finished preparing. Just as Clarke thinks, she won’t be granted a verbally answer, Anya opens her mouth and speaks in a voice that has never sounded as honest before.

“ _Sha._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

Last night, before heading to sleep, Anya told her that the trial will begin at sunrise. What Clarke didn’t expect, however, was to wake up alone with all of Anya’s belongings gone and nothing left but rations for a day.

The young blonde peels herself out of the bedroll and rummages in her bags to check if her fos has left her own equipment at least. Which she did. Her sword and bow lie directly next to the bedroll where she discarded them after dinner. In her bag are a small journal with a sketched map of Trikru territory as well as a compass, and her clothes.

“Seven days…”

She slowly picks her belongings apart and dresses into her usual gear, before she crawls out from under the sheet and realizes something else; Jake is gone. Anya must have taken him, too, or at least she hopes she took him, because if not, it means that the horse broke loose and is gone somewhere in the woods. And she finds that she’s actually thankful for it, too. Although it is comfier and faster to travel on horseback, it’s also accompanied by further complications.

First, Jake is hard to hide. Especially when traveling alone a stealthy advance is the safest advance, something nearly impossible with a horse. Without him she can easily move, hide, and even sleep in the trees.

Second, Jake needs food and water. And a lot of it. Although food for a horse is not that hard to find in the middle of a green forest, water very much is.

So, yes, if Anya took the black stallion with her, Clarke is very glad.

With a sigh, Clarke removes the ropes that bind the sheet to the nearby trees to provide her with cover for the night. She rolls it up before she packs her belongings. Dragging all of it along without the help of Jake or even a cart will be tough, but she will not let that deter her. There is no way that she’ll shy away from this trial, she won’t give Anya the satisfaction of dying.

With her backpack fully packed up and the sheet rolled and fastened below the backpack, she takes a swift look around with the compass in her hand. The mountain chain looms into the sky to the south west and she can hear water running down a river close by to the west. The past three days when she and Anya were on their way here, they haven’t crossed any river or been to any village. All of which indicates that Polis lies to her east and her destination far in the west.

She digs into the backpack and pulls out the journal, skimming through the few pages until she reaches the map of her people’s territory to find out where she is now. Luckily, rivers are relatively rare in the north where Polis lies, so she easily narrows down the area she’s at; close to a river delta northeast of Reva, a small village that marks the edge of the cursed zone of Maunde to the north. It’s inhabited mostly by hunters that gather food for themselves, Tondisi, and Polis, and many guards to protect them from any possible attacks by Maunon.

Her destination, however, is far more north; Nopar, the frontier to Azgeda. It’s the tallest village after Tondisi and heavily guarded due to its closeness to their enemy. They live in constant danger, even more so than Reva, as attacks by Azgeda are far more common than the Maunon, though not as devastating

Reaching the village on her own and on foot in seven days is quite possible, though anything but an easy task. The simplest route will be to reach the river delta and follow the junction against the flow direction. This way, she’s as far away from Maunde as possible, without having to put up with an enormous detour. After about three days, she should reach the next delta where another village, Mana, is located. Following the river to the northwest will eventually lead her straight into the forest and away from the water, which means that the last day of travel will be the toughest. She’ll have no landmarks to orientate and rather has to bank on her own ability to work with a compass.

However, the travel itself isn't the complicated part. The problem is that she has not nearly enough rations to last that long and hence has to hunt and gather her own food in that time. And then there are the predators that roam the woods and attack animals as well as humans, let alone outcasts and bandits.

But as it is, just sitting here and wailing about it won’t get her anywhere. She discards the journal into her jacket and slings the backpack over her shoulders before she arms herself with bow, sword, and a small quiver filled with barely a dozen arrows.

“Seven days”, she mumbles to herself once more and takes the first step towards the river.

 

.oOo.

 

Barely half an hour has passed as Clarke reaches the river and follows it north until it branches into two streams and then walks along the left juncture. The whole march she’s on the lookout for any animals that might cross her path, but sadly there are none, at least none big enough to serve for a meal. So, when she makes camp for the first time after four hours of stumbling through the woods, she has to feed on her rations.

At the end of day one, she traveled a good distance, but wasn’t able to find any food apart from a few nuts that could be jobi-nuts, she isn’t that sure about their coloring.  They’re supposed to taste quite well, though Anya has repeatedly advised against eating them. They’re not poisonous but can cause severe hallucinations. Clarke picked them off the bushes anyway, just in case she finds no other food. She’d rather risk seeing stuff that doesn’t exist than starve to death.

When she reaches the next delta at nightfall, she’s well within her timetable, but finding food turned out to be more difficult than anticipated. She’s never been good at catching fish and the river is too deep to just stand in it and wait until one swims into her open palm. It’s too soon after winter for fruits to have grown in the bushes and trees, and most of the animals she encountered were either deformed too heavily to provide meat that won’t poison her or were so small that roasting them barely stopped her hunger from growing.

However, her supply of the nuts has increased rapidly. They are of different shades of green and brown and differ in size as well, but she cannot be sure which are truly edible and which not. She has no choice but to risk it, though, as her stomach growls even louder. She climbs a near tree and settles on a branch about three meters above the ground. With some rope she ties herself to the trunk and branch, so she will not fall in the sleep, and takes a handful of nuts and pops them into her mouth, slowly chewing them into mush. They don’t taste bad, quite the opposite actually, and they swiftly decrease her hunger.

Truly sated for the first time in three days, Clarke gazes up into the night sky. Behind the numerous layers of branches and leaves the stars shine down on the ground with no clouds in their way. A small smile escapes Clarke’s lips as she sees a bright star steadily moving across the glowing sea. With the thought of finally feeling at ease, the young blonde slowly drifts into unconsciousness.

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

Sleep didn’t really find her this time either, but at the very least Clarke managed to put her mind off the dreams that haunted her in the night and instead finds herself in a room with a couple of children eager to hear stories from the outsider.

Three girls and one boy sit on the ground in front of her, none of them are former Trikru. The boy is from Yujleda, his mother died during his birth and his father long before, the oldest girl grew up in Ouskejon territory until her parents have been reaped by Maunde, and the two sisters were Sankru whose outskirt village was attacked by banished scavengers. They are all orphans but somehow found their way into the safe haven that Luna put up in the middle of the Great Sea.

Clarke doubts the adults nearby wish to have the kids listen to stories of war, so the young blonde instead settles on a tale she hasn’t heard in a long time and is sure neither of the kids have ever heard before.

“ _Do you know the legendary tale of Pramheda?_ ”, Clarke asks the group.

Four heads nod up at her and it doesn’t surprise the blonde. Heda, may only hold much pull in the Trikru, but the legendary Becca Pramheda is part of the history of all clans.

“ _Then you know, what happened on the ground after earth was devoured by Praimfaya_ ”, Clarke concludes, earning another series of nods. “ _Well, do you know what happened in the sky before Pramheda came, too?_ ”

“ _In the sky?_ ”, the little boy asked bewildered.

“ _Yes. In the sky_.” Four little heads shake, then lean closer to hear the story. “ _Praimfaya burned the world, but it changed the sky, too. When earth was on fire, thirteen spirits lived in the stars, all alone, with no one to share their pain in seeing their home burn. One day, Mir reached Shenzen and the two realized, that they did not want to be alone anymore, and instead began to travel together. On their way, they met the other spirits, until they all have found each other again. All but one. Because the thirteenth spirit did not want to be with the others. She could not bear to see her home die while she lived in the stars. Instead she left her brothers and sisters and came down to us._ ”

 _“Pramheda_ ”, the youngest exclaims happily.

“ _Yes, that spirit was Pramheda._ ”

“ _What about the other spirits?_ ”, the second Sankru girl asks. “ _Are they still in the sky?_ ”

 _“They are_ ”, Clarke smiles sadly as she thinks of the twelve stations that build the Ark and its more than two-thousand-five-hundred inhabitants. “ _During a clear night, you can sometimes see how they watch over us every day. They are the brightest star of all, and the only to move across the veil of darkness._ ”

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke sees that Lincoln entered the room a couple of minutes ago. She hasn’t really seen him since they’ve set foot on Luna’s new home, as most of her time was occupied by blaming Lexa, catching up with Luna, and being terrorized by her dreams. The blonde rushes to her feet and says her goodbye to the children, who all hug her as thanks, before she leaves with her friend.

“That is quite the beautiful tale”, he comments on the origin story of Pramheda.

“It is. Though the reality hasn’t been that magical.”

On the Ark the council always tried to turn it into something wonderous. It was the sole purpose of Unity Day. But Clarke figured out a long time ago that the founding of her birthplace was anything but the peaceful tale they let children recite every year. And the life for its people isn’t either.

“I do not doubt it”, he comments. “But I wanted to ask you something else.”

“Sure, ask away.”

“It is about Luna.”

With that simple sentence, Clarke immediately tenses. Her gaze wanders to the left and right, making sure that nobody hears them, before she grips the thick arm of her friend and pulls him down the corridor.

“Whatever’s your question”, she whispers as she leads them down to the room that Luna provided her with. “Not here.”

“What is all this secrecy about?”, Lincoln asks as soon as they’re alone with the door closed behind them.

“You don’t know who she is?”

“No, should I?”

Clarke hesitates. Yesterday, nobody outside of this rig apart from Lexa knew that she fled the conclave all those years ago, and with good reason. Luna being a natblida is very dangerous knowledge, not just for her, but for everyone who knows it and keeps it a secret. Yesterday, she screamed at Lexa for keeping that from her, and now she finds herself in the very same position as her friend. When she doesn’t answer, Lincoln pushes on.

“You obviously know her quite well. And Heda, too. She hugged you both as soon as you entered the room - nobody just hugs Heda. And she even managed a smile towards Anya. I am still figuring out which surprised me more”

“Yes, I know her. Or knew her”, Clarke sighs. “Listen Lincoln, this is as secret as it gets, are you sure you wanna know?”

The scout straightens his back and shrugs.

“I have already sworn not to tell anybody of anything I am seeing here. I might as well know it all.”

“Nobody, and I mean nobody”, she emphasizes the word with a raised hand. “Must know about this. Or all of our lives are in danger.”

“I understand.”

Clarke sighs and closes her eyes for a second, collecting her thoughts. When she reopens them she stares straight into Lincoln’s. He’s the most honest man she’s ever met, kind to her from the very beginning. And she’d trust him with everything, as does he with her. If she doesn’t want to lose that trust, she has to tell him.

“She wasn’t born as Luna kom Floukru.”

“Obviously, she practically founded the clan. She must be from somewhere else.”

“Until four years ago, she was Luna kom Trikru. And she is a”, Clarke stops again, taking a deep breath, before she practically whispers the word. “Natblida.”

To say that Lincoln’s expression is shocked, would be an understatement. His eyes widen, his mouth hangs open and he stumbles backwards, until his legs meat the small bed on which he plops down.

“A natblida. But she is the same age as Heda, is she not?”

“Roughly”, Clarke nods. “She was part of Lexa’s conclave.”

“That is impossible. No natblida but the one to become Heda survives the conclave.”

“Those are the rules, yes. And that is why this cannot reach anybody outside of this rig.”

“How did she survive?”

“Luna was never big on the whole conclave thing. She doubted that letting the natblida killing each other was the right way to choose who should lead. She fought Lexa in the conclave, and she won but couldn’t kill her. In turn, Lexa let her go and faked her death. Until yesterday I was convinced, she died. Just like everybody else thought.”

“That is treason. Treason by both of them.”

“It is”, Clarke nods. “Which is why you cannot tell anybody of this. If the fleimkepa found out about this, they would rally the people and call for a new conclave.”

“There is no need to worry. Nobody will hear it from me”, Lincoln says. “But something like this... It is bound to come to light at some point, especially with the Floukru becoming part of the coalition. She cannot hide her identity forever.”

Clarke doesn’t say it, but she agrees. She knows that someday the truth will spread, people will learn that Lexa isn’t the only natblida that survived that conclave. She only hopes that it’s so far into the future, that it won’t matter anymore.

“Thank you.”

“No, I must thank you”, Lincoln smiles up at her. “For trusting me enough with this. I know how much Heda means to you.”

Clarke rolls her eyes at the underlying meaning in that comment, before there’s a knock at her door.

“ _Come in._ ”

The door opens and reveals a tired looking Anya.

“ _It is time_ ”, is all the general says.

 

.oOo.

 

When the small group enters, the great hall is dimly lit by torches ornamenting the wall and a small pit fire in the middle of the room. Lexa and Luna stand next to each other, both gazing into the fire with small smiles on their lips and hushed whispers.

Luna wears a tank-top, revealing the naked skin of her arms and a huge burn scar on her upper arm. Clarke knows that this part has once been decorated with the three pillars of heda, as is common for natblida of age. But now, the skin is nothing but an angry arrangement of white and red scar tissue crisscrossing the length of the limb. A constant reminder of the past.

“ _I still do not like this_ ”, Anya breathes from behind.

“ _What exactly?_ ”

“ _Her being alive_ ”, she mumbles. “ _Do not get me wrong. It is nice to see her breathing, but this is begging for problems._ ”

“ _I agree._ ”

“ _You do?_ ”, Anya raises an eyebrow, not quite believing her. “ _You seemed very happy about it._ ”

“ _I was a lot of things in a very short time. Shocked, angry, happy. Right now, I am scared._ ”

The general nods slowly. “ _Lexa let her live, gave her a chance at a better life, and as her former fos I am proud of her for it. But the other part, the general, knows that this will not end well. If this ever reaches Polis, people will get angry. She began her reign with a lie._ ”

 _“And with the coalition, natblida become important to other clans, too_ ”, Clarke inclines her head. “ _The Trikru will not be the only angry people._ ”

“ _Sha. Sadly, we can do nothing about it now. We will have to wait and see. And when the day comes, protect her at all cost._ ”

“ _I hate waiting._ ”

“ _Such_ news”, Anya snorts a laughter and pushes her forward. “ _Come, let us get this over with._ ”

A couple of minutes later, the ritual begins. The room quietens down when Lexa raises her hand and lets her gaze drift across the people. It never fails to amaze Clarke how she can have everyone focus on her with a simple, wordless gesture.

“ _Today is a very important day for all of us_ ”, Lexa begins, her voice travels across the room with long trained confidence. “ _As today marks the beginning of our future, together and in peace with each other._ _I have come to you, not as Heda kom Trikru, but as founder of the coalition, to ask you and your people to join us. It is to my upmost satisfaction that Luna kom Floukru has agreed to take the mark and join this coalition that seeks nothing but coexistence and partnership._ ”

The room stays silent, but here and there few heads nod in agreement.

“ _Luna kom Floukru_ ”, Lexa then addresses the older natblida. “ _Kneel before me and take your oath._ ”

Luna walks around the pit fire until she’s opposite of Lexa and kneels down, her eyes fixed on her friend.

“ _I, Luna kom Floukru, leader of my people, swear fealty to the coalition and to the blood. From this day on, my people are your people._ ”

It’s few words, but they have a lot of meaning, a lot of pull. With two short sentences, Luna pledged herself and all of her clan to Lexa’s rule.

“ _I, Lexa kom Trikru, leader of the coalition, accept your people as my people. I will protect them, guide them, and lead them, under the mantle of the coalition._ ”

When Lexa pulls the iron bar out of the fire and holds the glowing tip against the other natblida’s left wrist, she barely flinches. A short moment of immense pain later and the young leader is branded with the mark of the coalition; two intersecting ovals inside a circle.

“ _We live as one. We live alone_ ”, Lexa recites the phrase that is part of the coalition’s newest anthem.

She holds her hand out and Luna reaches for the forearm to let herself being pulled back to her feet.

“ _I am your soldier_ ”, she answers. “ _I will atone._ ”

The two smile at each other before the young Heda addresses the people around her once more.

“ _Welcome to the coalition, Floukru._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2145**

Clarke is awakened by the sound of a horn. One long lasting thrust, then two seconds of silence followed by another thrust. And with that, the young girl is awake. Her eyes widen and her heart threatens to burst inside her chest.

“Impossible”, she breathes.

She should be out of reach, far away from the cursed lands around Maunde, but barely a hundred meters further into the woods she sees a thick yellow cloud roll through the trees, covering leaves, bark, and grass alike. Animals screech in panic as they flee the fog of death.

“Shit.”

Her fingers move to the rope binding her to the tree, but she’s moving too fast and shaking too much to loosen the knots firmly put there by herself last night. Instead, she pulls one of her knives out of her jacket and cuts the cords that hold her as well as the cords that she used to tie her gear to the branch. The backpack and her weapons drop to the ground and Clarke rolls to the side, following them swift as there is no time to climb down the tree with the fog coming closer with each second.

The three-meter fall feels like minutes, when in reality Clarke hits the ground right after her belongings. She grunts in pain as her right foot yields and tendons inside snap. Her leg gives out beneath her and she crashes face first into the dirt, straining her wrist as she tries and fails to cushion her own fall. A low groan escapes her lips when she pushes her torso up and stares toward the cloud that rolls nearer with every second.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck”, she repeats the cuss over and over again.

If Anya were here, she’d reprimand her for the language as well as for her clumsiness. She grabs her backpack with her weapons attached to it and pulls it closer. About half her arrows fell out of the quiver, but there is no time to collect the scattered munition. Instead, she rises to her feet, screaming at the hot pain that flashes from her ankle to her head as soon as she puts her weight on it.

She turns around and limps towards the water as fast as she can. Each step drives a flood of tears into her eyes until her face is covered in transparent, salty streaks.

When the trees become rarer and the sight of the wide river opens up in front of her, the thick fog is a mere meter behind, grasping at her with wafts of mist like claws of a beast. Just as it reaches the bare skin of her neck and the burning sensation of its touch reaches her mind, Clarke jumps headfirst into the river.

The cold water immediately surrounds her and soaks her clothes and equipment, increasing their weight unbearably. She’s pulled further down by her own belongings as she desperately tries to reach the opposite shore.

Not long after, she touches down on the riverbed and tries to crawl the rest forward. She should be about halfway through the river when her body screams for oxygen and forces her lungs to inhale. Her mouth opens against her will and sucks in the water. She begins to cough, which only causes more of the river to enter her lungs.

She’s kicking her legs without much control by now, but somehow manages to keep moving forward until her head’s above water. She stumbles the rest out of the river and sinks to her knees, leaning on her elbows, coughing, spitting, and heaving in a feeble attempt to get her lungs dry once more. When it seems like enough water has left her body for it to return to a relatively normal breathing routine, she turns on her back and deeply inhales the fresh air.

And it is very fresh, Clarke realizes with some wonder. She lifts her head and gazes across the river. The fog has stopped exactly where the water touches the soil, as if haltered by an invisible wall.

She closes her eyes and chuckles dryly, not quite believing what just happened and wondering how it’s possible, but not quite caring about it, as she’s just maddingly glad to have outrun it. She may be soaking wet and freezing, she may have a strained ankle and wrist, but she is alive.

She lifts her left hand, covers her face for a moment, massages her temple, and runs it through her wet hair. But when she opens her eyes, her upper body shoots back up in an instant. Her hand is red, covered in blood. And not just her hand.

“What the hell.”

She sits in a pool of blood, warm and fresh. For a moment she thinks it’s her own, but there is too much, way too much blood for it to be hers alone. If she’s lost that many, she’d have died a long time ago.

“Maybe I am dead”, she whispers when she sees something lie in the sea of red.

She reaches out towards it, touching its soft surface. It feels like fur, slightly rough. When she lifts it, she instantly drops it into the red puddle again.

“Cuddles”, she breathes.

Soaked with blood the stuffed animal stares up at her with pitch-black eyes. Years ago, Cuddles was her constant companion, but she’s lost him the day she and her father entered the pod. The teddy-bear cannot be here.

There is not much time to think about it though, as he suddenly comes to live before her eyes. He snarls at her and fletches his teeth, long and point, ready to tear the flesh out of her body. Before she can truly react, the animal jumps her and sinks his teeth into her left shoulder, causing Clarke to scream.

With the beast attached to her, she rolls in the blood. She pummels the head, tries to pry him off, but all this does is causing the teeth to jam deeper into her muscles. So, she changes strategies, moves one hand to her belt and searches for her knife. When she finally finds it, she pulls it from the sheath and stabs the stuffed animal in the head. And again. And again. Until the jaw finally slackens and the beast drops into the dirt.

“Raise your hands!”, a man shouts shortly after.

All Clarke can think is _what now_. Heavily breathing, covered from head to toe in blood that isn’t hers, and clutching her wounded shoulder, the blonde turns and stares at half a dozen men clad in the Ark’s guard uniform walking towards her, their weapons raised and aimed at her.

This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. There are no guards on the ground, they’ve never left the Ark or Clarke would know. She would’ve noticed a dropship fall from the sky big enough to carry at least six grown men and their gear.

But she in a way she’s glad to see them, anyway. Just as she’s about to tell them her name and who she is, they shout at her once more.

“Clarke Griffin, you’re under arrest for treason.”

 They know her. Despite the years that have passed, they still now her name. But treason? Why would they arrest her for treason?

“Run, Clarke!”, a woman then shouts.

Even though she cannot see her, she knows that she must follow the order if she doesn’t wish to die. She ignores the threats of the six men, grabs the once more lifeless Cuddles, and rushes to her feet. She ignores the pain and runs into the forest. Behind her, the rifles are being fired rapidly, she hears and feels the bullets rush past her. She ducks her head and continues through the forest.

“Follow me”, the voice calls out again.

This time, there is a figure accompanying the voice and Clarke is drawn towards it. With a renewed burst of energy and pumped to the brim with adrenalin, Clarke rushes forward. Soon the figure transforms into something recognizable; long brown hair, plush lips, dark green eyes.

“Lexa.”

The young leader holds out an arm for Clarke to take, and she does, letting herself be dragged through the forest with her other hand holding onto Cuddles.

They run north, further away from the river and the guards that are still shouting and shooting.

After what feels like eternity, they’ve reached a small cave hidden by bushes. Clarke follows Lexa inside. Finally feeling safe, exhaustion takes over and she accepts that her body simply yields and falls into the dirt. The world around her falls apart as she drifts into unconsciousness.

 

.oOo.

 

The first thing Clarke feels when she slowly reenters the world is the pounding headache and nausea. Then there’s throbbing pain in her shoulder and her ankle feels as if it’s been put in a grinder. But far worse is the biting cold surrounding her. Her clothes are soaking wet and stick to every bit of her body. Her skin is cold as ice, her teeth chatter and her fingers tremble. She needs warmth, and fast, or she’ll freeze to death.

But when she opens her eyes, she’s more confused than anything. Her clothes are wet, that much is true, but not with blood. Not at all. The only thing covered in red is her shoulder where the wound gapes. Also, next to her doesn’t lie Cuddles where she dropped him before. Instead there’s a large panther cub with multiple stab wounds in the head and neck. Lexa isn’t here either.

“ _They cause severe hallucinations_ ”, she can hear Anya’s voice.

Nothing of what she saw was real, but the consequences are very much. Well, she’s never going to eat jobi nuts again, of that much she is certain. But at the very least the horrifying experience gave her enough meat to last for the next few days. First, she needs a fire, though. To warm herself up and cook the meat.

Carefully, Clarke turns on her stomach and pushes herself up. Her shoulder and foot scream in agony, but she keeps on pushing until she leans against the cave wall, albeit on very wobbly knees. Holding herself upright with a hand against the wall, Clarke stumbles to the exit and realizes something else, something bad.

It’s pouring. In rain this heavy it is impossible to find wood and greens to build a fire. It will burn, sure, but it will not ignite without something dry. She stays close to the cavern as she hobbles through the woods and gathers enough wood for a fire as well as a few branches to stabilize her ankle. She’d search for some medical plants to treat her shoulder, too, but in this weather she wouldn’t last long. Instead she returns to the dark cave and builds a small bonfire.

She grabs her backpack and empties it by simply turning it upside down and shaking it. The contents drop out one by one and scatter on the ground. Clarke rummages in them until she finds the flintstone. She guides her blade across the small stone with shaking hands and creates the tiny sparks, but as expected they’re not enough to ignite the wet greens or smaller branches.

“Damnit”, she grumbles and drops both items to the ground.

Her gaze drifts back to her belongings, searching for something dry that she could use until she notices the journal. It is very small, ten pages at most, and all of them filled with maps and information on their enemies’ movement, too important to burn. However, there’s something else in the journal; a photograph. She takes it out and stares at it. It’s the picture that has been taken on Unity Day. Apart from her father’s watch and wedding band it’s the very last reminder of her family and her former home.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then rips the photograph in half, quarters, eights, and places them below the wood. Her mother’s face stares up at her, torn across her left eye, as she creates more sparks with her sword and flintstone. After the sixth try, the pieces ignite and burn. Soon, the wood catches on and the fire grows while her parents vanish in the smoke.

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

It’s the morning after the ritual, when she, Lexa, Anya, Luna, the Floukru’s newly appointed ambassador, and a tall man named Derrick stand around a table in a dimly lit room.

Luna introduces Derrick as her second in command. He has dark hair and a short beard. His forehead is decorated with a tattoo, but it’s no form typical for Trikru. He must be from another clan, Podakru maybe.

The ambassador is a well-aged man with grey hair and a beard that reaches his waist. His eyes are sunken deep within their sockets as he holds the table to steady himself.

“ _William will be sent to Polis within the week, accompanied by a guard of ten men_ ”, Luna explains.

“ _You will send guards to Polis?_ ”, Clarke can’t help but ask.

It shouldn’t really surprise her, every city and village need protection after all, and the rig that is the Floukru’s capital is no exception. But the people are here because they don’t fight, so it is somewhat strange. On the other hand, they did greet them with raised weapons at the beach.

“ _Of course_ ”, Luna nods. “ _We do not fight for the sake of war, but if it is to protect someone, we can do it nonetheless. And even though I know the Trikru guards will protect my men, I do not trust the other clans._ ”

“ _Very well_ ”, Lexa then says. “ _He is to report to Titus as soon as he arrives._ ”

The eyeroll Luna makes at the mention of the fleimkepa is not lost on Clarke, causing her to smile. Some things simply don’t change, no matter how much time has passed. William, although only spoken about and not to, bows deeply as affirmative answer.

“ _Let us begin with the more important issues, then_ ”, Anya clears her throat. “ _How can you help us with the wars to come?_ ”

“ _Wars?_ ”, Derrick asks. “ _I thought your coalition is about peace._ ”

“ _Sha_ ”, the Heda nods. “ _But this peace will come at a cost. I am not any fonder of killing than you are, but I am not delusional either._ ”

The man grumbles something under his breath, but Luna stops him from voicing anything louder with a glare. It seems like they’ve had this discussion in private already. Then she merely answers Anya question.

“ _Obviously, I will not send any warriors with you. However, I have boats big enough to carry up to thirty men and their equipment, each. They are yours, as well as volunteers to steer them whenever they are of use to you. Also, we produce food and clothes that can be shipped to your armies and civilians._ ”

“ _The boats will be helpful. We can use them to send a small detachment to Yujleda while the bulk of the army secures the border to Louwada Kliron._ ”

It sounds like a well enough plan, in theory. It wouldn’t look good if their whole army would march into Yujleda territory, after all. They may be allies already, but that doesn’t mean they’ll tolerate a thousand warriors trampling down their fields. Also, the boats will be much faster at their capital, which is in the very south at the Great Sea. Time is of the essence; the sooner they gain allies, the better are their chances to have their coalition strong before Azgeda realizes what they’re doing.

“ _They will be useful in Podakru later on, too_ ”, Anya says.

“ _It is settled, then. They are yours as soon as you depart._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

Tristan stares up into the cloudless sky. The sun burns into his skin and sweat trickles down his face, into his eyes. He swiftly moves his hand across the wet skin and wipes the sweat off. He can’t stand this heat. And the sand. It’s everywhere, in his clothes, in his gear, in his hair. Even in his mouth the tiny stones crunch between his teeth. These lands are nothing compared to the forests of his home.

Next to him Rivo doesn’t fare that much better, but at least his dark skin doesn’t care about the sun. While Tristan stares into the sky and at the horizon far ahead, Rivo’s eyes are fixed on the ground, the sand, tainted crimson. Three bodies lie there, arrows sticking out of their torsos and throats cut. Two more men kneel in the blood of their dead brothers and sisters.

Behind them, Delano is wailing in pain. One of those Sankru bastards managed to ram his blade into the Trikru warrior’s skull and cut out an eye together with half the face. Liv hovers above him, her ash white hair clinging to her skin and the dark rimmed eyes narrowed in concentration as she desperately tries to stop the bleeding and tends to the horrendous wound with the warrior thrashing around in pain.

The other seven of his warriors stand close to the group, protecting them from any foe that might be crazy enough to engage them. Not that they could truly surprise them. This far into the desert there’s nothing but sand, and you cannot hide in sand. These people only managed to attack them, because they deceived them. They came closer, proclaiming not wanting to fight, and then just threw their weaponry at them.

“ _Your friends did not need to die_ ”, Tristan says after minutes of simply staring ahead. “ _All we wanted to do was talk to your leader._ ”

“ _Talk_ ”, one of the kneeling men spits. “ _You step on our land, armed, and kill our people._ ”

Tristan drops his eyes to one of the bodies, sword still clutched by limp fingers, and simply points at him.

“ _He attacked first_ ”, he shrugs. “ _But I promise you there will be no more killing if you bring us to your leader._ ”

“ _Why should we trust Trikru scum like you?_ ”

Tristan sighs, he said this would be a waste of time. Why trying to convince these idiots when they could just conquer them? He agreed with Quint on that note very much, not like those women that dare calling themselves general and chief or this stupid special girl that fell from the sky. Besides, the Sankru are no real match for their warriors, the very short battle mere minutes ago has proven that. Their lands would be Trikru territory in the matter of days. But he also likes to have his head on his shoulders very much, and he knows Heda will call for it should he simply run his sword through every Sankru he meets.

“ _Believe it or not, we come with peaceful intentions_ ”, he all but grumbles. “ _Otherwise, we would not have this conversation._ ”

“ _Alright_ ”, the man says and slowly rises back to his feet. “ _My name is-_ ”

“ _I do not care_ ”, Tristan interrupts him. “ _Just bring us to your leader._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

About an hour later, Tristan, Rivo, and Liv enter the house where Sankru’s leader is supposed to wait for them. It is a rather comical sight with Tristan and Rivo standing tall at almost two meters and the rather short Liv standing to their side. But the general knows not to judge a warrior by their height, especially not the women. They can be very feisty and surprisingly strong - Liv is no exception. She might be one of his healers, but if cornered, she can be as feral and deadly as a pauna. The rest of his warriors have built up camp within the large village to prepare for the stay and tend to Delano, who at the very least stopped wailing like a child and instead succumbed to sleep.

The man that has brought them here walks up to an occupied chair with its back turned towards them. He whispers something into their ear, then a hand is raised, and he steps back, his head lowered.

“ _I am told you wish to talk_ ”, a warm but deep voice says.

Its owner raises from the chair and turns toward the group to reveal an old man, older than any Heda the Trikru ever had. His face is heavily wrinkled but otherwise unblemished. His cropped hair and goat-beard are as white as his skin, and his eyes are grey, though not due to color but blindness.

“ _So, you are the legendary Bodo. Leader of your people for five decades_ ”, Tristan says.

He has to admit, he is somewhat disappointed. He imagined someone taller, someone who looks like he could yank trees out of the ground. Not just being alive for that long, but also being the leader of the Sankru for fifty years must have required a strong character, but instead there stands an old, weak man, unarmed and wearing a long, black robe.

“ _Is that what you wish to discuss, Trikru? The nature of my leadership?_ ”, Bodo’s voice is laced with sarcasm.

“ _No. I come at the behest of Lexa kom Trikru._ ”

“ _I gathered as much already. Usually the only people who enter our lands are banished. But you clearly are not._ ”

“ _I am Tristan, general in Heda’s army, and I came to submit a proposal._ ”

“ _Well, I am listening._ ”

Tristan pulls a rolled paper out of his pocket. He already moves to hand it over, before realizes that the old man would not know what to do with it, blinded as he is. Instead he clears his throat as he begins to read it out loud.

“ _Bodo kom Sankru. I know that the history of our people has been, albeit not that bloody, strained at best. Your people are justifiably angry about many things the Trikru have done and still do. However, I also know that you suffer as much, if not more, by others- people and nature alike. I hope that, for the sake of true peace for all of our people, we can set our differences aside and establish a true alliance._

_I am now in my fifth year of reign, my people are stable and safe. Or as safe as they can be with twelve clans at constant war with each other and a common enemy looming above us all. It is a situation that would be content to most, but not to me. I do not wish for false safety when threats are only a border away. I wish for peace among us all._

_So, with the help of my trusted advisors and friends among other clans, I created the coalition, an alliance of clans ruled by one sovereign, guided by their ambassadors. And I ask you to join this cause, peacefully, and show the other clans that we can put our differences aside and do more than merely exist next to each other._ ”

Tristan looks up as he rolls the letter back up. “ _It is written and signed by Lexa kom Trikru._ ”

The old leader strokes his beard, his blind eyes cast down, as he contemplates the words he’s just heard.

“ _I gather, this coalition will be led by her._ ”

“ _It will be led by the blood._ ”

“ _Which means her for as long as she lives_ ”, Bodo concludes.

“ _Sha. Though Heda has established some rules that can put her into_ ”, Tristan grimaces. “ _Let us call it early retirement, if the clans were to see her unfit to rule at any point. However, only a natblida would be able to follow into her footsteps._ ”

The man sighs and turns around. He walks the short distance to a window and has his eyes focused on it, as if he could actually see his people beyond the glass.

“ _What if I refuse?_ ”

“ _I have orders to convince you peacefully. But I also have all of my men waiting halfway to our border, with the order to attack should I not return within a fortnight or if the negotiations fail._ ”

“ _That does not offer much choice._ ”

“ _If it is of any notability, Heda neither wishes for bloodshed, nor for world domination. She wishes for peace._ ”

“ _And what do you wish for, Tristan kom Trikru? You speak a lot of your leader, but what do you think of this?_ ”

“ _I am a warrior. I would rather fight than do this charade of diplomacy and cozying up to enemies_ ”, he answers honestly.

Bodo faces the general once more. It is as if his blank eyes are able to gaze straight into Tristan’s soul. He might not be able to see, but he sure knows how to stare someone down.

“ _Yet, here you stand. Disagreeing with your own thoughts and instead giving me your Heda’s words._ ”

“ _I would die to defend the blood, as would any Trikru. I might not agree with everything, but I have not received the training to lead our people as the natblida do. The spirits have chosen her and Heda has yet to do something to earn any mistrust. She is strong, true to her word, and she wants what is best for her people. If you agree to this, your people will become her people, too._ ”

“ _What about you two?_ ”, he then asks, addressing the other two Trikru in the room.

Liv takes a small step forward and squares her shoulders. “ _It is a sensible way to end the bloodshed. Heda does not have any ill intentions, and ambassadors will prevent her from treating one clan worse or better than another._ ”

“ _Rivo is loyal to Heda in any possible way_ ”, Tristan answers instead of the other warrior. “ _He does not talk that much, though._ ”

As explanation, Rivo opens his mouth slightly and points towards his nonexistent tongue, even though Bodo cannot see the gesture.

“ _So, she grants me safety in return for what? Giving up leadership?_ ”

“ _She grants safety, trade, friendship. But not for leadership, you will continue to govern your people. However, any natblida are to be sent to Polis for training, now and in the future. You, as leader of your people, ultimately answer to her. Your army would be hers to command._ ”

“ _I guess, she will have use for that army very soon._ ”

“ _Sha. I would take all of your dispensable men with me once I leave._ ”

“ _If we agree to this, I want something in return._ ”

“ _Name it._ ”

“ _The frikdreina. I understand why you send them into the Dead Zone, but to reach that, they walk on my lands, they loot villages, hunt down livestock, taint crops. Their dead bodies poison water and grass. They must be escorted all the way to the places my people do not reach or executed far away from our lands._ ”

“ _I am sure that can be arranged._ ”

Bodo nods, stroking his beard once more. “ _I will confer with my council. In the meantime, you and your guard are welcome to stay within the village and relish in our hospitality._ ”

It is as much an answer to the proposal as a dismissal, so Tristan nods and bids his goodbye with a small thanks. He leaves the house, closely followed by the warrior and healer.

“ _This went actually rather well_ ”, Liv whispers once they’re out of earshot.

The general doesn’t like it, but it truly did. And it doesn’t even feel like it shouldn’t have. Maybe their Heda is right after all and there is a chance at peace for the first time in generations.

 

.oOo.

 

Clarke and the others stayed on the rig for three more days, discussing more details about the coalition and the help Luna can give them. But soon, the time for departure has come and the group was brought back to the mainland.

The blonde hugs her sword for a whole minute, just happy to have the weapon back in her hands. Her fos said nothing as she saw it, but simply shook her head in dry amusement.

It didn’t take long for the group to get back to the water, though. While Anya and Lincoln prepared to move the army toward Louwada Kliron’s border, Clarke, Lexa, Ryder, Gustus, and twenty more warriors stepped onto another boat.

They’re on their way to Rida now, the capital of the Yujleda, and it is obvious who of their people are never going to be people of the water.

One of those is Ryder. His skin is white as snow with the faintest tint of green around his nose and mouth. His eyes are glassy and brimmed red and his hair and beard are sticky with sweat. He’s bent over the railing, emptying his stomach for the second time today.

“ _Who would have thought the only thing needed to break the mighty warrior is a bit of water_ ”, she taunts him and claps him on the shoulder.

He merely turns around and slides down to the deck with his head hanging between his shoulders, too worn out to even glare at the young blonde.

“Stop teasing my guard.”

Clarke turns towards the voice and sees Lexa walking towards them with concern in her eyes as she stares at the crumbled form of her protector. Ryder simply raises his hand, signaling that he’s fine.

“He makes it so easy, though.”

“Clarke.”

“Fine”, the blonde sighs as if deeply hurt by this, then hands her waterskin to the guard. “ _You should drink something, but only sips_ ”, she tells him before turning towards the Heda completely.

Her hair is unbraided, face void of paint, and she lacks any kind of armor. Without all that one wouldn’t think that a fragile woman like her would be their almighty leader.

“So, what’s the plan?”, she asks as she follows her to Lexa’s cabin.

“We should reach Rida’s harbor in about three days. I do not expect them to be hostile, they know we are coming, after all.”

“Not by ship, though.”

“True”, Lexa sighs and rubs her temple. “But it will just show them that the coalition is something good. The Trikru did not have ships this large a week prior. Now we do.”

“Did you receive any news from Tristan?”

“No, but I do not doubt he will accomplish his task.”

The blonde just nods. Their dislike for each other isn’t a secret, but he is a general. He wouldn’t be that if he weren’t competent to some degree.

“I wished to talk to you about something else, though”, the Heda says when they’re in her small room with the door closed behind.

“Sure.”

Lexa paces back and forth in the small room, fidgeting her fingers. She almost looks nervous.

“A few days ago, you told me that Titus’s lessons about feelings are…”

“Bullshit, yes”, Clarke finishes the sentence, earning an eyeroll in return. “You know, you can say it, right? Bullshit? You won’t die just because you cuss.”

“Let us not risk it.”

“Lexa kom Trikru”, the blonde feigns shock. “Did you just make an attempt at a joke?”

“I do have a sense of humor, Clarke.”

“Uh-huh, right”, she mutters skeptically. “Anyway, you were talking about feelings, I think?”

“Sha”, just like that, the nervousness is back on the brunette’s face. “Is that truly your opinion?”

“I think I’ve said it often enough to make that question redundant.”

“Right. Did you ever have feelings for someone?”

Clarke’s eyes widen for a moment. _Where does that come from?_ But then it dawns on her, she isn’t asking for the blonde, but for her own sake. Lexa has fallen for someone with no idea how to approach the subject. Clarke can’t help but feel like her heart’s been stabbed.

“Yes”, she finally croaks out.

“How did it turn out?”

Well, she cannot tell her that. How would that go? _Oh, you know, I’ve been in love with you ever since I realized what that weird tingle in my gut was whenever I’ve been with you. But we both know how much I acted on it, so it went just peachy._ No, there is no way she’ll just blurt that out. For the past year she’s convinced herself of not acting upon her feelings for the sake of their friendship. That won’t change, especially not when the young Heda seems to have realized that she has some of her own after Titus tried to convince her of the contrary her whole life.

“Lexa”, she finally sighs and rubs a hand across her forehead. “What do you really want to know?”

“I have met someone, a few months ago”, she answers as she plops down on the small bunk. “We spent a lot of time together and became close.”

“Is her name Costia, by any chance?”

Lexa’s green orbs shoot up to meet Clarke’ blues and then narrow in confusion and silent question.

“Please”, Clarke scoffs. “You wanted to discuss the healer’s setup? Why on earth would you care about their setup in a temporary war camp right after your arrival in the middle of the night? Also, I’ve known you for years and been with you each day I’ve been in Polis. I know when you lie to me. Though I begin to realize I’m not that good at discovering when you hide something.”

Though not her intention, the last sentence struck home. Lexa grimaces and averts her eyes. It is the bitter truth though; Luna. Costia. Who knows what else there is.

“I did not mean to deceive you.”

“I know, it’s alright”, the blonde shrugs it off.

It’s really not, but it’s also not the time to hold a grudge because of it. She has to swallow her own feelings once more and instead focus on her friend.

“Do you love her?”

“I am not sure.”

“How can’t you be sure?”

If there’s one thing Clarke is truly sure about, it’s how she feels about the people that surround her.

“I feel kind of giddy when I am with her, but it is as if something is missing. It is nice, but not perfect”, she sighs. “Besides, I am Heda. I could never be with her, not fully. I have to put my people first and her second, always.”

“You do”, Clarke agrees and doesn’t believe that she’s about to push her into the arms of another woman. “But if she loves you, it won’t matter to her.”

It never mattered to Clarke, after all.

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2145**

She is late. It is no real surprise with what happened near the river delta. The jobi nuts didn’t just cost her a day that she needed to sleep off its negative effects, they also gave her too many injuries to continue in her usual travel speed.

After she managed to light the fire in the cave, she got rid of the wet clothes and spread them around the source of warmth to dry them. She did the same with the contents of her backpack that weren’t lucky enough to keep dry in the first place. Completely naked, she sat in front of the fire, preparing the meat she could salvage from the panther corps and ate something truly satiable for the first time in days.

Then, she treated her injuries as best as she could. With a bunch of sticks and a piece of cloth she managed to stabilize her ankle, but the open wounds were something else entirely. The bite on her shoulder wouldn’t stop bleeding, so after half an hour of trying to clean it properly, she cauterized it, pressing the glowing red blade against the skin and screaming in agony.

Now, as she limps through the woods, her clothes rub against the sensitive scar tissue, causing a constant pain and her right ankle hurts with every step she takes.

She was supposed to meet Anya in Nopar yesterday, and she is still at least a day away.

“She’s going to kill me”, Clarke mumbles as she drags herself forward, her hands loosely gripping the backpack’s straps. “I’ve survived all this crap and she’s going to kill me anyway.”

It’s then that she hears something close by; breaking twigs and rustling bushes. Her hands move to her bow before she remembers that she has no arrows left. Half of them she lost dropping from that tree, and the rest now swim in the river she rushed into to flee the nonexistent fog of death.

So, when she tightens her fingers around the hilt of her sword instead, it is already too late, and an arrow sinks deep into her right arm.

She cries out before she manages to draw the sword. She thanks the spirits for being lefthanded as an axe closes in on her face and she’s able to deflect the blow.

In front of her stands a warrior, his clothes dark as the night, but his face is painted white with a symmetrical pattern of scars underneath the color. The markings of an Azgeda scout. She must be closer to the border than she thought.

“ _You have chosen a bad time to walk these woods, girl_ ”, he taunts her with a cocky smile as he slowly circles her with a raised axe.

“ _I could say the same of you_ ”, she replies in false bravado.

Right now, she feels anything but brave. She’s hurt, tired, alone, and has a fucking arrow sticking out of her right arm. At the reminder of the last thing, she grabs the shaft and breaks it close to the wound. She throws the now useless piece of wood to the side and regains her stance.

The man emits a booming laughter. “ _You have a lot of temper for such a little person._ ”

“ _A lot of anger, too_.”

That much is true. She is pissed far beyond just being annoyed. When this trial began, she thought she’d walk through the woods, gather enough food to survive, and maybe fight off a predator or two. Instead, she was starving, fell from a tree, almost drowned, was bitten by a panther, nearly froze to death, and now there is a lunatic shooting arrows and swinging an axe at her.

Without warning, she rushes forward, her sword raised in a high arc. When the scout swings his axe to defend himself, she simply ducks under the weapon and takes a step to the side. Close enough to him, she cuts the blade through his leg and swiftly rushed out of his range, throwing a knife in the process that drills into his shoulder. He drops to a knee with a low growl, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he stares after the young seken.

“ _I was going to kill you fast_ ”, he says as he slowly gets back up and pulls the knife out of his torso, followed by a swell of blood. “ _But now, you will suffer._ ”

Clarke doesn’t react fast enough as her own knife already sails through the air again, connecting with her left thigh. Their positions have changed now, with her kneeling in the dirt and him hovering above her. He swings his axe and brings it down above her head.

The blonde raises her sword just in time, but the force behind the blow is too strong for her weakened body. She drops the blade, and before she has the time to realize what’s happening, the scout has already rammed his knee into her face.

As soon as she lies on her back, he’s on top of her. One of his hands is wrapped around her neck, the other presses against the broken arrow, pushing it deeper into the flesh. But Clarke can’t scream as the pain surges through her body because his fingers clamp her windpipe, stopping any air from entering or exiting her body. Her mouth opens and closes like a fish as broken yelps escape her when she fails to breathe. She moves her left arm around, until her fingers grasp something solid; a rock just the right size for her palm. She lifts it and slams it into the scout’s head.

The blow is enough to surprise him. His grip around her throat softens and blood tickles down his temple. She strikes him again and again, until he finally lets go of her completely and she can scramble backwards, out of his reach. She’s gasping for breath and simultaneously skims her body for the knife in her thigh. She wraps her finger around the handle,

As she expected, it doesn’t take the scout long to recover from the blows, while she’s still kind of out of it. He practically throws himself on top of her once more, reaching for her throat again, but doesn’t notice a very crucial thing: In the last moment, Clarke pulls the knife out of the muscle tissue and turns the blade up.

As the scout lands on top of her, he impales himself on the steel just between two ribs. He gives some staggering breaths, before his moving stops altogether and his dead weight crushes Clarke small body. Blood pours out of him and covers Clarke’s torso up to her neck.

With a heavy grunt she heaves him off her and stares up into the sky, just lying there for a couple of minutes and processing what just happened. Not really coming to a conclusion, she finally moves into a sitting position and looks at the dead man.

She crawls over to him and, after staring at him for a few more seconds, rummages in his many pockets, looking for anything useful. She finds a couple of sketches and weapons she tucks into her own pockets, then clears the soil around him from wood or anything else that might catch fire. She peels off the left sleeve of her jacket, and brushes her fingers across the skin of her shoulder blade until she finds the four small bumps etched into it for eternity. With the knife she used to kill him, she adds number five, and then sets the body on fire, remembering a conversation long past.

“ _Will it ever be easy?”_

It was the first time she fought in a real battle about three months after she became Anya’s seken. She trained to fight and injured a lot of men and women, both accidently and deliberately. She hunted animals, skinned them, and produced their meat. But when she killed another human being for the first time, she felt her body shiver. She hadn’t slept properly for a week afterwards and hadn’t dreamed anything but a reliving of the brutal fight for a month.

“ _I hope not”_ , Anya answered. “ _You learn to bear it, you learn to live with it. But the day it stops bothering you, you start becoming a monster_.”

“ _You love the fight._ ”

The blonde was still confused by her answer. Anya never struck her as a person who would have a problem with killing her enemies, especially when a death of an enemy would ensure the survival of a friend. She looked around and let her eyes roam the camp where other Trikru searched for survivors.

“ _They all do._ ”

“ _Do you know why we mark ourselves for each person to die at our hands?_ ”, Anya asked, ignoring what Clarke said completely.

“ _To remember our kills_ ” the seken responded.

She puffed her chest, proud for knowing the answer, but the general looked at her in a scolding way, as if she couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“ _To remember the lives_ _we have taken_ ”, she snarled. “ _Killing is not something you should do because you like it. And you should not ever be proud of it. You can be proud of defeating an enemy, of winning a fight, a war. Be proud of protecting your people. But never of taking a life._ ”

She bent down in front of Clarke and stared her straight in the eye, then pointed to the man with white warpaint covering his face and the gaping hole of a sword wound in his chest. Clarke’s sword.

“ _Every person you kill has family, Skaigada. Everybody is loved by someone. If you kill them without thinking about that_ , _you are no better than a Ripa. We live by harsh rules and fight to survive, but we never forget that even our enemy is only human._ ”

Not even a year and four scars later, Clarke stares down at another dead Azgeda, once more killed by her. As it turns out, Anya was right. The killing itself became easier, but she cannot help but think about the fact that she just took someone’s son, someone’s brother, someone’s father.

“ _Your fight is over_ ”, she whispers and takes off towards Nopar once more.

.oOo.

 

When she finally reaches the large village near Azgeda’s border, Clarke is far beyond exhaustion, and she must look like it, too. As she nears the gate and its guards recognize her as one of their own, they immediately rush to help her inside.

“ _Anya._ ”

She wants to ask them where she is, but all she manages is to repeat the name, hoping that one of them understands what she wants from them.

They guide her into a small hut, the healer’s symbol painted on its door, and urge her to sit down on a large table. She hears voices from the outside, some yelling, maybe even a punch being thrown, until the door slams open and a very agitated general enters the room in her full warrior attire.

“ _Spirits_ ”, she breathes as her eyes catches Clarke’s. “ _You look like shit. How much of that blood is yours?_ ”

The blonde merely smiles at her Fos, then hisses as the healer’s fingers brush against the broken arrow that’s still stuck in her arm. She didn’t dare removing it as she wasn’t sure if she could stop the resulting bleeding without help.

Nobody says anything else, Anya just looks at her seken from afar. Clarke hisses and grunts every now and then, while the healer tends to her many, many wounds.

After an hour of treatment, the old man leaves the hut to give the fos and seken some privacy. Clarke sits on the table, her feet dangling off the side. She’s stripped down completely, showing all her recent wounds and bandages, only wearing some underwear, her father’s watch and the necklace. The healer tried to remove those, too, but when Clarke managed some very colorful threats, he refrained from it.

Her right ankle is properly splinted, her right upper arm and left thigh are covered with seaweed and wrapped in a bandage, and an ointment is spread across her shoulder where she cauterized the panther bite. Her throat is green and purple from being choked and colorful bumps begin to form where the scout’s axe and knee hit her head. Most of her hair and discarded clothes are colored a deep red from all the blood that leaked out of the scout, the panther, and her own body.

Clarke explains to her fos what happened, from the morning she woke up alone, to the hallucinations she had because of the jobi nuts, and the scout that attacked her in the woods. She also gave her the notes she found on the Azgeda’s body; maps and sketches of Trikru territory, information on their enemy’s movements. Things that will be useful in the ongoing war. And Anya does nothing but listen with her eyes cast down. They only flicker up once; when the blonde tells her that it was a hallucination of Lexa that guided her to safety, but she doesn’t comment on that either.

“ _Are you not going to say anything?_ ”, she finally asks.

She anticipated a lot from Anya. Anger, shouts, blaming, reprimands, scolding. But she didn’t expect this silence where the general would simply stare at the many injuries. And she certainly didn’t expect the words that would follow that silence.

“ _You did good, Clarke._ ”

_to be continued..._


	5. the calm before the storm

_I needed a long time before I even began talking to her, let alone grant her my trust. As everyone knows, Wanheda and I had our differences for many years, which is my fault more than hers. I could recognize her as capable warrior, but I never wanted to see the person underneath, I resented her too much for reasons that are, in hindsight, of no importance. That is, until too many things have shaken both our lives and we were forced to stand together against enemies greater than this petty infight._

_When you look at her you would not expect the fierce and dangerous woman behind kind blue eyes that care for her people. She has scars and wounds obvious to everyone, but also a smile that brightens the day. Today I consider her one of the people closest to me, so I know the smile is a disguise and nothing more, that she is the calm before the storm. Only that she is the storm, too; a hurricane that rains fire upon its enemies._

_Indra kom Trikru_

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2142**

She shivers. Not necessarily from the cold, though it is a lot colder than she’s used to. No, she shivers because her soul is wounded. She’s a bare month away from turning eleven, a lonely child that has just lost both her parents and now stands in the doorway of a hut, surrounded by strange people with weapons, each looking angrier than the one before. She has no idea what they’ll do to her.

“Sit”, Anya orders.

Her voice is gruff enough to make the young girl flinch and obey without hesitation. She walks towards a tall table and sits down on one of the wooden chairs. Shortly after, a cup of water and a small plate with green colored vegetables is shoved in front of her.

“Eat.”

Then, Anya walks across the room to another woman that looks even scarier than her. She has dark skin and eyes, her black hair is close cropped, and her face is adorned with tattoos as well as various scars that tell the story of a life full of pain. They talk to each other with hushed voices in their weird language, with Anya sounding mostly irritated and the other woman furious. Two brown sets of eyes move to Clarke every few seconds before they finally only settle on each other and leave the blonde alone with her small meal that tastes better than anything she ever had on the Ark.

“Hei”, a small voice suddenly whispers softly.

Clarke’s eyes shoot up from the emptied plate and gaze at its owner across the table. She didn’t even notice the girl coming closer and sitting down opposite to her. A shy smile adorns the round face and large eyes stare at her as if Clarke were the biggest riddle in history.

“Hi”, the blonde finally answers.

“Ai tagon bilaik Gaia. Chon yu bilaik?”

Clarke barely gazes at the other girl in confusion who seems to realize that the blonde doesn’t understand her. She points at herself when she repeats a single word.

“Gaia.”

Then she points to Clarke with questioning eyes.

“Oh”, the blonde whispers, then widens her smile. “Clarke.”

“Hei, Clarke”, Gaia whispers, then continues in a rather broken and heavily dialectic English. “Where you from?”

Instead of answering, Clarke merely raises her hand and points towards the sky, or roof since she’s inside a house.

“Yu bilaik kom skai?”

Just as the girl looks as if she’s about to ask ten thousand question, a very angered voice interrupts the conversation, causing Gaia to straighten her spine and Clarke to sink further into herself.

“Gaia, yu du nou chich em op. Gon we.”

“Ba _-_ ”

“Nau, Gaia!”

With her head hanging between her shoulders, Gaia stands up and leaves the room and not even a second later, the angry woman stands in her place and stares down at Clarke.

“Indra”, Anya calls out, obviously trying to stop her shouting at the young blonde. “Hod op _._ ”

The woman grabs Clarke by her chin and yanks her head up so that she’s forced to stare into brown eyes.

“And you never speak to my daughter again.”

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

When they finally close in on the harbor of Rida, they encounter various smaller boats out for catching fish and nothing else. The fishers stare at them with gaping mouths and do all to steer clear of the bigger boat filled to the brim with warriors and weaponry, not to mention the Heda standing at the bow whose long, red sash blows in the airflow like a banner. She forwent the war-paint, but with the sash falling from her shoulders and her hand loosely resting on the hilt of her sword, she doesn’t need the black kohl to look frightening and above them all.

“ _Maybe we should raise a white flag_.”

“ _What?_ ”, Ryder asks.

He and Gustus flank Lexa on either side, with Clarke standing slightly behind and observing the people across the sea and at the harbor. They don’t just look confused, but slightly frightened. There have never been people to visit them by boats before, at least not in a friendly manner.

“ _A white flag_ ”, Clarke repeats. “ _In the old world, it was a sign of truce or even surrender. It showed peaceful intentions to another person on the battlefield._ ”

“ _Since I do not plan on surrendering to anybody, I doubt a white flag would be appropriate._ ” Lexa stares ahead.

“ _I bet it would ease their minds, though._ ”

The Heda merely turns around and walks towards the helm, closely followed by her guard and Clarke.

“ _Steer towards the dock_ ”, she tells the Floukru that has brought them here.

“ _Sha, Heda._ ”

“ _How do you know that much about the old world anyway?_ ”, Ryder asks as the boat continues to drift forward.

“ _I read_ ”, Clarke shrugs. “ _A lot._ ”

Polis has a rather formidable collection of books and information that survived the nuclear apocalypse almost a hundred years ago, but it’s in the lower levels of Heda’s tower and therefore not available to the general public. Also, reading the English language is a skill that got lost throughout the years once the clans developed their own languages. The only people who are taught are fleimkepa, scouts, and natblida. For the rest of human population, it’s simply not a necessity, something Clarke always found sad, as it unavoidably led to the loss of culture and knowledge regarding the old world. On the Ark, people are still taught of age-old history and what led to the destruction of their home planet, but on the ground, they just stopped caring.

About ten minutes later, they finally dock. With the help of two warriors, the Floukru secures the boat at wooden bitts. All but a small detachment to guard the boat set food on solid ground once more, and Clarke would lie if she said she’s not happy for it. She may not have gotten sea-sick as Ryder and many of the others did, but she prefers a ground that doesn’t move beneath her feet nonetheless.

It doesn’t take long before a group of a dozen men and women, all clad in thin leather walk towards them. Their chest pieces are engraved with the clan’s symbol; a single leaf with its tip turned up. Their faces are concealed with dark green cloth, but some have small leaves and branches tattooed on their forehead or around their eyes. Every single one of them has a short sword hanging from their hip and a long spear in their hand.

When they’re close enough, they break apart to reveal a boy even younger than Clarke. He is unarmed and his clothing is simple instead of the light armor the others are wearing. Behind him four older men stand, clad in dark robes. Lexa and he both incline their heads in mutual respect, and the rest of their escort parties follow suit.

“ _It is good to see you again, Heda Lexa_ ”, the boy begins formally. His voice is clearly breaking as is normal for his age. “ _Though you told you would be coming, I did not expect you to travel across the Great Sea._ ”

“ _You as well, Prince Neo. And I apologize if we scared your people with our arrival._ ”

“ _There is no need. My people know that the Trikru are friends, not to be feared, it was merely unexpected._ ”

 _Prince Neo_ , Clarke thinks to herself. So, this boy that barely matches her own height is leader to the Yujleda. Honestly, after all these years it shouldn’t surprise her anymore that more often than not it is children who lead their people or armies. But it’s still strange to look at someone younger than even she is and observe them commanding warriors or bargaining with other clans.

When they walk through the streets of the large seaport, Lexa and the prince continue their chat, but Clarke tunes out very soon and instead falls back to walk alongside one of the robed figures. He is definitely older than the prince, about thirty, Clarke guesses. His hair is almost nonexistent, his face shaved down to a few stubbles and two black leaves adorn the left side of his nose.

“ _Excuse me_ ”, Clarke speaks up after walking silently next to him for a few meters.

He turns his head and looks her up and down slowly without missing a step. His green eyes finally settle on the red cloth around her neck before he answers.

“ _Sha, Skaigada?_ ”

“ _You know who I am?_ ”

“ _Our people have been allies for years, I have visited Polis many times serving the crown. Many tales are being told about a girl with hair bright as the sun and eyes clear as the sky._ ”

“ _Huh_ ”, is all that escapes her lips.

She knows that she’s well known by their own people, as the girl that fell from the sky and has been close to Heda ever since. But she’d never guessed that other clans heard about that as well. She stores this bit of information away for another time and instead continues with what she’d actually wanted to ask the man.

“ _Well, since you know so much about me, it is only fair of me to ask for your story._ ”

“ _Of course_ ”, he smiles at her. It is pure and honest, not a cover for a lie like she’s used to see on politician’s faces, especially those from other clans. “ _I am Uzac kom Yujleda, part of the crown’s circle in the second generation._ ”

“ _What does that mean?_ ”, she asks, then swiftly adds as not to offend him or his people. “ _Apologies, I have not had the pleasure of speaking to many Yujleda before, I fear my knowledge of your people and customs is very limited._ ”

To be fair, she never thought all those lessons on politics and other clans would ever turn out to come in handy, so she usually tuned out during those. Who knew she’d end up in the middle of political history making next to the founder of the hopefully soon to be coalition of the twelve clans.

“ _I am sworn to advise the crown as well as speak and act in its name. Prince Neo is the second I have the honor of serving._ ”

“ _He is quite young. How long has he been king?_ ”

“ _Prince, not king_ ”, he corrects her. “ _We do not use that title. And since Prince Heron passed away about three months ago._ ”

“ _My condolences_ ”, she whispers and he merely inclines his head in acknowledgment. “ _It must be hard on him, leading his people just as his father died._ ”

“ _He has many entrusted helping him. All of the circle has been with at least one prince before him, so we do know how to lead our people._ ”

“ _So, how is he handling a decision like this?_ ”, she asks, referring to joining the coalition.

“ _With grace and pride, mostly. He knows the value of our people, and he knows the value of yours. He did not hesitate long in his decision-making._ ”

“ _He will accept_ ”, Clarke concludes, earning a firm nod from the man. “ _What about you? What is your opinion on this?_ ”

“ _Our clans have been allies ever since the secession of Azgeda. Joining is the next logical step, especially as it does not threaten our people. We will remain sovereign in enough aspects that we are still Yujleda, but we will be part of something greater._ ”

“ _So, you support it._ ”

“ _Even more than that, actually. I volunteered to travel to Polis and act as ambassador._ ”

“ _I look forward to meeting you there again, then._ ”

They’ve all come to a halt in front of a large house of the old world that is in rather good shape, especially compared to the houses Clarke is used to see in and around Polis. They all enter the house and are led into large hall with a rather humble throne standing at its end in front of giant windows that grant a view at the open sea.

“ _Actually you can help me with something while Heda and the Prince discuss the details of the coalition._ ”

“ _Oh?_ ”

“ _I was hoping you could tell me more about your people and warriors. What they are used to, what they can do. What they are good in or not._ ”

“ _Why would you need that much of information? Not that I am not willing to share._ ”

Despite his inquiry, Uzac already guides her into another room close to the hall. It’s much smaller with a table standing in the middle and half a dozen chairs lined around it. Two guards have followed them here, but the future ambassador orders them away with a wave of his hand, before he and Clarke sit down next to each other.

“ _You know who I am, so I guess you know I am seken to General Anya as well._ ”

“ _It might have crossed my path._ ”

“ _We do not need to kid ourselves, Uzac. Despite all of our noble and peaceful intentions, war is coming. And with you part of our coalition, your army will be part of ours as well. A general’s duty is to ensure the success of that war and as seken it is mine as well. I must know how your people can benefit our cause without dying senseless deaths on the battlefield. No matter how irrelevant the information seems to be._ ”

“ _I see_ ”, he nods deliberately slow, then clasps his hands together. “ _We are a people of the sun. We have no winter here, not like you do, and certainly not like Azgeda does, hence our clothing is light; thin leather and soft cloths, no thick furs or heavy boots. However, we are used to rain, a lot. Our warriors are all trained on riding horses or bulls and fight with short swords, long spears and bow and arrows._ ”

“ _So, a war in Azgeda territory would most certainly lead to your warrior’s deaths. However, your people might come in handy should we have to fight against Delfikru and Trishanakru or even Ingranronakru and Podakru._ ”

“ _You expect to fight against your allies?_ ”

“ _If I expect the worst, I will not be surprised._ ”

“ _Did you expect to fight against us as well?_ ”

Clarke’s silence is all the answer Uzac needs, but he doesn’t even react negatively to it. He nods, understanding.

“ _Well, in that case I am just glad that it did not come to that._ ”

“ _As am I._ ”

They continue talking about the use of Yujleda’s army for a while and come to terms with a plan that would benefit the coalition’s goal without jeopardizing them unnecessarily. Their army will travel to the Yujleda’s northern and eastern border and secure it against possible invaders from Trishanakru, while also serving as backup plan should Louwada Kliron pose a greater threat than expected. There, they will stay so they can, together with the rest of the ever-growing army, encircle Trishanakru and fight them at two fronts. After all but Azgeda have been dealt with, they will help securing borders of the coalition against attacks, but otherwise only provide provision for those that actually lay siege on the coldest lands.

At least, that’s the theory.

 

.oOo.

 

Lincoln may not be used to traveling with an army and he’s certainly not used to be preparing for a war, but he is very much used to scouting the lands around. He’s crouching in the crown of a tree and stares down at the village below; Doah.

It’s rather beautiful, decorated with flags and cloths of various colors, and its people are cheerful as they trade their goods with each other. Food for leather, ale for clothing. Some guards mill about and chat with the civilians.

They don’t seem like a violent people, but calm and friendly, which is why he didn’t understand that the Trikru never managed to ally themselves with their neighbors. Until last night. Now he knows better than to be misled by this peaceful picture. His group’s objective was to scout ahead and engage any Louwada Kliron they might find with the words “ _we come with peaceful intentions and merely wish to speak to your leader._ ”

They did say those words but the Louwada Kliron clearly have a dislike for outsiders. His group was killed immediately. He only survived because he was the one farthest away from the guards they encountered near Doah. He managed to slip away and hide in the trees for an hour before the guards finally broke off their search.

Since then, he’s been observing them, counting guards and identifying their routes as well as shift patterns. Sooner or later he will have to return to Anya and tell her that their objective has failed drastically, but he won’t do so empty-handed. He’ll bring her information to prepare an attack, because with their first scout squad killed, retaliation will follow.

When he has everything he needs, Lincoln turns around and carefully climbs across the trees without any of the guards noticing him, before he’s far enough away to safely return to the ground and cover the rest of the distance by foot.

It takes him almost two hours, but eventually he returns to the blockade that Anya’s army has built close to the border. When he and the other scouts left, Tristan has just joined them. By now, his army, some reinforcements from Tondisi, and the Sankru warriors he brought have put up their camps around the blockade. From afar, it truly looks like they’re preparing for an invasion, which they most certainly are.

“ _Anya_ ”, Lincoln calls out as he sees her walking between the tents and ordering warriors around.

Her head snaps around and she scans him up and down. She’s clad in her full general attire; long, dark coat of leather, sword and bow strapped to her body, dark kohl surrounding her eyes. She even wears her headgear, something he has never seen her do before. It almost looks like a crown; the signature of a general.

“ _Lincoln_ ”, she acknowledges him with a curt nod. “ _Where is the rest of your squad?_ ”

“ _Dead_ ”, he sighs. “ _We met a patrol, they did not even give us a chance to explain. They outright attacked us._ ”

“ _I see_ ”, she sighs and signals him to follow her. “ _That is most unfortunate._ ”

“ _Unfortunate?_ _Four of my scouts are dead._ ”

If he offended her with his short outburst of anger, she doesn’t show. She merely turns around and fixes her eyes on his. It’s impressive how she can stare him down despite being so much smaller and thinner than him.

“ _And we will grieve them as they deserve. But right now, we need to focus on the fight that lies ahead._ ”

Silence follows them until Lincoln nods and they continue their walk into the general’s tent. It’s not the tent she and Clarke usually sleep in. It’s bigger and resembles more Heda’s tent. It makes sense, though, they need to plan their strategy somewhere, after all. Maps are spread out on a few chests that stand in the middle and a single bedroll lies in the far corner with Anya’s belongings scattered on it. Swiftly, Lincoln explains everything that happened, where they’ve been attacked and the intel he was able to gather on the village and its guards.

“ _I will need volunteers._ ”

“ _What is your plan?_ ”

“ _We send another squad in, approach them peaceful once more._ ”

“ _That would be suicide._ ”

“ _Which is why they must do this voluntarily. But as we have none of them as prisoner, it is our only chance for the plague. Except of course, they can find us one without dying themselves._ ”

Lincoln inhales sharply. He understands exactly what her plan is; get the scouts far enough into enemy territory, possibly even into the village, and have them spread the plague. They would sacrifice themselves doing this, but they would also ensure an easy attack on the village once its population is affected by it. In the end, the sacrifice of a few warriors means saving dozens.

“ _I will spread the word._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

Heda and her escort stayed in Rida for two days after the ceremony, planning out everything necessary for the wars to come. Lexa and Prince Neo agreed with the plans Clarke and Uzac outlined and soon they were on their way again. Much to Ryder’s dismay, they chose to return to the rest of the army on the boat, as it would be much faster than traveling through all of Yujleda.

About a week later, the finally arrive reach the blockade close to Louwada Kliron’s border.

“Tristan and Anya have been busy”, Clarke whispers.

She is definitely impressed by the sheer size of the blockade. Hundreds of warriors mill about the camps. Most of them wear the symbols of Trikru one way or another, but here and there she can see the red sun of the Sankru engraved in leather or painted on flags. Seems like Tristan has been successful in his attempt to bring them into the coalition. Even some Floukru banners flutter in the wind, though she knows that those belong to vendors, healers, and hunters only, as they already stated they wouldn’t have a combatant role in this war. But still, to see the colors of different clans mix is something beautiful nobody ever expected to happen, and with the Yujleda now in their grasp as well, they already are a fast-growing coalition of four clans.

“They have, but they also have been unsuccessful in persuading them peacefully.”

Clarke takes a closer look at the warriors and realizes that Lexa is right. They prepare themselves for a fight in a way they wouldn’t do without being ordered to.

“Well, let’s find out what’s going on, then.”

They dock the boat close to the blockade and then get off it as fast as possible. Heda orders their escort to pack up their belongings and set up her tent as close to Anya’s as possible while they walk over there already.

“ _Anya_ ”, Lexa calls out as soon as they’ve reached the tent.

Clarke and Lexa enter without waiting for a reply. Inside, three heads shoot up as they notice them; Anya, Lincoln, and Tristan. They’ve been studying maps and sketches that are scattered between them.

“ _Heda_ ”, Anya greets her with a respectful nod, which is copied by the other two. “ _Have you been successful?_ ”

“ _Sha, Yujleda agreed to the coalition, they are on their way to secure their borders and will join us soon. I see, the Sankru did as well?_ ”

“ _Sha, Heda_ ”, Tristan confirms. “ _We had to kill some of their scouts, but in the end, they accepted._ ”

“ _Good. What about Louwada Kliron?_ ”

Silence fills the room and Anya inhales sharply before she continues explains the situation.

“ _They do not come as easy. We have sent messages to Doah, but none has been answered. Then, we sent a few scouts into their land to contact them. They have slaughtered them all._ ”

“ _What have you planned?_ ”

“ _The plague._ ”

Lexa nods slowly, her eyes fixed on the map and nots in front of her. Clarke can practically see the clogs turning in her head as she weighs the options they have.

“ _Do it_ ”, she finally says. “ _Have the armies ready to go by sunrise in three days._ ”

Without another word, Lexa turns and leaves. Clarke though stays behind and returns to her side by Anya.

“ _Well, you have heard Heda. Go prepare your warriors, Tristan, and tell the Sankru to do so as well. I will do the same with mine. Lincoln, you fetch me the volunteers._ ”

Though Tristan doesn’t seem too pleased with being ordered around by the other general, he simply nods and leaves immediately, closely followed by Lincoln. As soon as they’re alone, Anya runs her palm across her face and rubs her eyes.

“ _Are you alright?_ ”

“ _I have lost a dozen scouts, for nothing_ ”, the general sighs angrily and throws a small wooden warrior figure across the tent before she leans against the maps “ _And now I will send another group of them into their death._ ”

“ _The burden of being a leader._ ”

“ _Do not quote me to myself_ ”, Anya rolls her eyes.

Clarke merely smiles sadly in response, remembering when Anya said those words to her. Once in a while in the first year after her trial, Anya would put a group of warriors or scouts under Clarke’s command to train her skills in leadership. The first two times went well, but the third ended badly for almost everyone. It wasn’t necessarily Clarke’s fault as they ran into a trap that could not have been predicted easily by the best of them. However, it was still Clarke’s decision that got six brave men and women killed. She was devastated, even more than after the first time she took a life herself, and Anya sat down with her at the campfire and explained that, albeit losing subordinates is horrible, it is also inevitable. Someone has to make the tough choices and tell the warriors where to go, and sometimes not everybody returns. Living with that is the burden of being a leader, she said to her.

“ _The scouts have not died for nothing, Anya. And neither will those that die to spread the plague. Their sacrifices will save the lives of hundred others as they prevent a war from happening. When the coalition is built, we will remember everyone we lost along the way, and they will be honored in our memories forever._ ”

It hurts Clarke to think about those losses as well as it hurts Anya, but she also knows that those are the words the general needs to hear right now. She must be reminded that there’s a reason for all of this, that this isn’t for nothing. At last, Anya looks up and focuses on Clarke. The fury has left her eyes and has been replaced by annoyance instead.

“ _When have you become so wise?_ ”

“ _Sometime in those last six years. I would give you some credit, but your head is already big enough as it is._ ”

The general snorts a short laughter and smiles at her seken, before throwing an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into a half embrace.

“ _I know I do not say this often enough, Clarke, but I am truly glad to call you my seken._ ”

Despite the confession coming from heart and sounding utterly sweet, something so very rare and strange to hear from the tough general, Clarke can’t help but burst out in laughter. When Anya looks at her offended, the blonde clears her throat and smirks at her mentor.

“ _I wish I could travel back in time and tell your younger self that one day in her future, she is going to say those words to me._ ”

“ _She might kill you for it._ ”

“ _Probably_ ”, the blonde shrugs. “ _But it would be worth the look on her face._ ”

There’s a few seconds of comfortable silence, before Clarke returns to the topic at hand.

“ _The scouts, have their bodies been burned?_ ”

“ _No. They are too close to Doah to be retracted safely._ ”

“ _Then we will get them in three days_ ”, Clarke promises. Not having their spirit freed after death is the greatest insult a Trikru can receive. “ _One way or another._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

It’s the next day when Clarke walks through the camp and stumbles across something she’d rather not have seen, as it has her heart twist in her chest. She likes knowing Lexa, whose shoulder’s are always heavily loaded with responsibility, has happy and somewhat carefree moments as well. But to see that the reason for that is her current company just hurts.

Apparently, the reinforcements Tristan brought from Tondisi weren’t just some warriors, but also a couple of healers. One of those is a certain brunette Lexa smiles at right now as she’s telling her some kind of story.

She tries, Clarke really tries not to dislike her for simply being the target of Lexa’s affection, but she does. She’d never thought herself to be the jealous type, but apparently, she is.

“ _They look cute together_ ”, Anya suddenly interrupts her own pity party.

“ _You knew_ ”, the blonde realizes.

“ _Of course, I knew, I have been her fos for more than a decade. I raised that girl. Just do not tell her I called her cute._ ”

“ _You knew_ ”, Clarke repeats. “ _You knew and you did not tell me?_ ”

“ _Lexa’s secrets are hardly mine to tell_ ”, Anya states firmly, then eyes Clarke knowingly. “ _And neither are yours._ ”

“ _I do not know what you are talking about_ ”, she quickly dismisses it.

“ _Oh please._ _I practically raised you, too, Clarke. The way you look at her is unique. Your eyes always betray you when you talk to a close friend, but they are nothing like when you are with her. Actually, she has a similar look in her eyes when she talks to you, but neither of you seem to ever realize it._ ”

“ _You want to know what the hardest part is?_ ”, Clarke continues, not even fully registering what Anya just told her. _“I was the one who told her every single day that having feelings does not make you weak._ ”

“ _If it hurts so much, do something about it. Tell her how you feel. For what it is worth, I think you two would be good for each other in more ways than just being friends._ ”

Inwardly she already files that advise under highly unlikely. She refrained from telling Lexa for more than a year, she won’t use the most inappropriate timing there is to change her directive now. However, she very much likes the first bit of the advice Anya has given to her, to do something about it. Though she knows that the general didn’t mean it as what came to her mind.

Later that day, when she knows Lexa is occupied in a meeting with all generals and captains of the Trikru as well as Sankru, Clarke walks straight into the healer’s compartment. It’s rather calm and quiet, unsurprising as the fights haven’t had started yet. Only a few are treated for feeling a bit under the weather, but nobody is even remotely injured, and so Clarke doesn’t feel guilty for keeping a healer from their work. Though she might feel just the tiniest bit of guilt for what’s about to leave her mouth.

“ _Costia?_ ”

The older girl spins around, her eyes wide at being called out. She must’ve not expected someone to want anything from her, for a moment she looks as if someone’s pointing a blade against her throat. But then she recognizes the blonde that stands in the tent’s entrance and relaxes ever so slightly.

“ _Skaigada. How may I help you?_ ”

“ _I was hoping to talk to you in private._ ”

“ _Sure._ ”

The brunette looks slightly confused as she scans the tent where a few other healers mill about, but then she leads Clarke off to a close compartment that is connected to the main tent.

“ _It is about Heda and you._ ”

“ _What?_ ”, Costia coughs awkwardly. “ _What do you mean?_ ”

“ _I am Lexa’s friend, Costia. Do you honestly think I would not know about you sooner or later?_ ”

“ _Of course, yes. I mean no. I mean-_ ”

“ _Do you love her?_ ”

“ _I_ ”, the brunette hesitates. There is something in her eyes, a flicker of pain, maybe regret. But her voice sounds honest as she continues. “ _I do._ ”

“ _Good, Lexa deserves someone who truly loves her, who treats her as the only one who matters_ ”, Clarke’s smile vanishes suddenly and her voice grows cold. _“That is why I promise you one thing, Costia. If you mistreat her or if you hurt her in any way, you do not want to meet me ever again._ ”

She never hears the audible gulp or sees the fear and panic etched onto Costia’s face. She just turns around and leaves, the threat still hovering in the air.

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2145**

It’s quiet as usual in the library. Clarke isn’t sure if it’s just not used that frequently, or if the others avoid it as soon as she enters it. Either way, she doesn’t mind. This way, at least no one bothers her when she reads up on the old world.

That is until she hears a yelp behind another bookshelf, followed by a couple of thuds. The blonde slowly raises her head and listens to the low groan. She closes the book in front of her and hobbles over to the source of the sound.

Buried underneath a couple of books that fell off a shelf, Clarke spots the dark skin and hair of a girl and immediately rushes to the pile. She takes the books off her and throws them to the side rather carelessly.

“ _Hey, I know you._ ”

It has been some time since she saw her, but Clarke recognizes the brown eyes and the facial structure. It has changed slightly in the last years, but the resemblance to Indra is still as striking as the last time.

“ _Gaia, right?_ ”

With a low groan, the girl opens her eyes and brushes the rest of the books and papers off of her as she sits up.

“ _What are you doing here? Why are you not in Tondisi?_ ”

“ _We know each other?_ ”

“ _You do not remember me?_ ”, Clarke asks.

She does her best not to feel offended by it. After all, they’ve only met for a few minutes before a rather furious Indra dragged Gaia away from her and threatened the blonde to never approach her ever again.

“ _My name is Clarke. We met about two and a half years ago._ ”

“ _Of course. You did not even speak Trigedasleng, right?_ ”

“ _Much has changed since then._ ”

“ _I can see that_ ”, Gaia says and deliberately looks the blonde up and down.

Her eyes catch the many bruises and injuries that are scattered across her skin and haven’t yet healed properly. It was only about two weeks ago that Anya returned her to Polis after her trial. Even though she passed it and her fos told her she’s proud of her, Clarke got too hurt in the process to be traveling through the woods. Instead, she spends her days loafing around the tower and getting on everybody’s nerves. Whenever she’s too much for the others to handle, she retreats into the library and baths in the quiet.

“ _Are you who they call Skaigada?_ ”

Clarke sighs. There it is again, the reminder that, while she might be Clarke kom Trikru, she’s still different. “ _Yeah, that would be me._ ”

“ _Then I should not be talking to you._ ”

“ _What?_ ”

“ _Titus told us, not to speak to you._ ”

“ _First your mother forbids us from speaking with one another, and now Titus, too?_ ”, Clarke scoffs. “That man has his stick way too far up his ass.”

“That he does.”

Clarke just stares at the other girl for a second, half shocked, half apologetic. She didn’t expect her to understand the words or the meaning, she didn’t speak English well the last time she saw her.

“You’ve learned Gonasleng.”

“And you Trigedasleng”, Gaia smiles at her. Apparently, she doesn’t care much for being forbidden to speak to her. “I still have much to learn. Many words are hard to say and reading them is worse.”

“I wouldn’t mind helping you”, Clarke says with a shrug. “I have a lot of time until my ankle is healed properly.”

“That would be nice. I was trying to improve my Gonasleng with books, but you grew up with it, _did you not?_ ”

“I did. So, why are you here and not in Tondisi with your mother?”

“My mother wanted me to become a warrior, but I did not. I was more drawn to the flame. I met Heda Lexa quite often before her ascension, when she and the general were at our house. The flame always intrigued me more than the wars.”

“So, you’re here to become a fleimkepa?”

“Sha.”

“Maybe you can help me as well, then. Titus teaches his students about poison and medication, doesn’t he?”

“He does.”

The blonde smiles at hearing this. Though she has always been to the natblida lessons Titus held, he rarely talked about this with them. He mostly teaches his young fleimkepa apprentices about healing techniques, but not the natblida. And after having read many books on medication of the old world, she realized that many things simply don’t apply anymore, as the Trikru don’t have the equipment and medicine the world once had.

“Then you teach me about those, and I help you with your Gonasleng.”

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

Clarke slowly walks through the village with her left hand tightened around the handle of her sword. Blood runs down its blade and drops from the tip into the dirt below, leaving a red trail. To her left and right, bodies are scattered around. Some have slash wounds across their bodies, others arrows sticking out of torso and limbs. There’s even a man whose arm has been severed. And others are not dead at all, but groaning in pain.

People run away as soon as they see her and hide in their homes. But she won’t go after them, they’re not her target. In fact, she doesn’t have a target at all. When she arrived at Doah next to Anya with an army at her back, Lexa told the people that they’re not here to fight them, but anybody who attacks them anyway will be dealt with mercilessly. Too many didn’t take her threat seriously and the Trikru warriors were forced to charge into the village with their weapons raised.

The plague has left many sick and defenseless, but there were enough guards and angry civilians left healthy enough that were willing to protect their home against the threat. Needless to say, they didn’t stand a chance. The people that live in this valley were always known to be vicious and cunning, but not that great fighters. With most of their population incapacitated by illness, they are no match for the seasoned army of the Trikru that has been fighting in many wars. By her current count, Louwada Kliron has lost dozens of warriors, whereas the coalition only has seven dead and fourteen heavily injured, not counting the scouts that died beforehand. There are more with minor injuries, but whose will walk away from those within a day or two.

As she slowly strides through the village, she hears a furious yell to her left and spins her head to the side. A woman runs towards her, long-axe raised and ready to strike down. She’s visibly controlled by her anger and doesn’t care for her surroundings, her feral eyes only fixed on the blonde’s head. She wears thin pants, large hunting boots and a jacket with blue decorative ribbons. She’s clearly not a warrior, but just a furious civilian that makes a fatal mistake; she completely ignores the sword Clarke holds. She just charges her, fueled by rage, and Clarke steps to the side a short second before the woman reaches her. She rushes past her, her axe swings into nothing but air and she realizes too late that she’s completely open and defenseless now. Already, Clarke thrusts her sword into her back directly below her lowest rip, the tip of the blade goes upwards in the body, piercing vital organs.

The axe clatters to the ground and as soon as Clarke removes the sword, the woman drops to her knees in a fast-growing puddle of her very own blood. Somehow, she manages to turn around before her body slackens and bright blue eyes stare up at Clarke, completely void of life. She kneels down in front of her, checks for a pulse even though she knows she won’t feel a heartbeat, and then moves her fingers to close the eyelids.

“ _Your fight is over_ ”, she whispers.

She rips one of the blue ribbons off her jacket and admires the color and cloth for a moment, before she raises back to her feet and continues walking, while she uses the ribbon to clean her sword off the red blood. Nobody else comes close after this, until suddenly a small body stumbles into her side. The blonde turns around as stares at a dark brown mess of hair and wide blue eyes with faint green streaks and a face caked with dirt black as the night.

“ _Leave her alone!_ ”, someone calls out.

Clarke raises her head and spots a man standing a few meters behind the young girl. He has a bow drawn and the tip of the arrow in her direction. He shivers horribly as he threatens her, but not just from the sickness that has visibly overtaken him. No, he shivers because he’s not a skilled warrior either, he’s afraid of her and yet he stands there threatening her because of the young girl that sits in the dirt and stares up at Clarke.

She understands that a father would do anything to protect his child, but something is off here. The blonde moves her eyes back to the girl.

“ _I will not hurt her_ ”, she whispers.

She sheaths her sword to emphasize her words and crouches down to her level, completely ignoring the arrow that follows her movement.

“ _What is your name?_ ”

The girl doesn’t answer, she simply stares at her. She doesn’t look particularly frightened of her, if anything she’s cautious. Maybe she was taught not to talk to people she doesn’t know. Also, Clarke is one of the people that just invaded the village and sprinkled with blood, so there’s that. And then Clarke notices what why this is weird, what she couldn’t figure out mere seconds ago. The girl is perfectly healthy, without any sign of the plague.

It isn’t unusual that people are somewhat immune to the symptoms, but to show none at all, is impossible. Gaia told her this when they began teaching each other; the plague is an illness used as weapon to weaken a village or an army before the initial attack usually used when they intent to take prisoners. It isn’t deadly to most, and the younger the person, the better they fare with it. But everybody gets it. Except for natblida, they are completely immune.

Slowly, Clarke reaches out and brushes some of the dirt away, only to realize that it isn’t dirt at all. It’s blood. She must’ve hit her head on something, maybe even on one of Clarke’s knives as she ran into her. Fresh blood oozes out of a small cut on her forehead as soon as she removes her hand.

“ _Little natblida_ ”, she gasps.

A thousand thoughts race through her mind as she processes this. She must take her. Every natblida that is discovered is to be taken to Polis. Especially when Louwada Kliron enters the coalition - by force or by choice doesn’t matter - they will be told to hand over all natblida they know. But then she thinks of the natblida she met years ago that died during the conclave; Adrien, Roslin, Kira, Ramon, Silver, Oxon, and Sol. She thinks of Aden and all the others that are in Polis, training and learning every day so that one of them may one day kill the others and lead their people without having been asked if that’s what they want to. She recalls the lives they’ve been given, full of duty and pain and loss without happy memories. She remembers how often she saw Lexa’s mind drift off to thoughts about her nonexistent childhood or interrupted her many meditations with the former heda that more often than not left her in a state of disarray rather than clarity. But most prominently her mind drifts off to Luna, who was a natblida in Lexa’s conclave and yet lives a rather pleasant life far away from all the duties and violence the natblida are given. If Lexa could save a friend from that fate years ago, surely she can save an innocent girl now. She knows she must take her, but she simply doesn’t want to.

She takes off the red cloth, wipes the girl’s face clean, and wraps it around her neck again. She doesn’t miss the irony that she uses a part of Heda’s sash to hide the identity of a natblida. Then, she takes the blue ribbon she used to clean her sword earlier and wraps it around the girl’s head, covering the wound. It’s gross to do this, as the ribbon is soaked in another human’s blood, but with the red now slowly dripping down her face, at least nobody will notice the thin black streaks.

“ _Hide her_ ”, she tells the father without lifting her eyes from the girl. “ _We will be gone in a few days. Hide her at your home, no one must see her blood. Ever._ ”

Only now does the man drop his bow. He rushes over to them and picks the girl up in his trembling arms. She clings onto him like a lifeline, but her eyes are still fixed on Clarke, as if she knows her, knows the betrayal she just committed to protect her.

“ _Thank you_ ”, the man almost cries. “ _Thank you, thank you._ ”

He reaches out and touches her arm before he runs away, leaving Clarke alone and surrounded by the dead once more. She takes a deep breath and drops her head with her eyes closed.

“Spirits”, she whispers to herself. “What did I just do...”

 

.oOo.

 

It’s barely two hours after they marched into Doah that the Trikru warriors blow the horns in victory. Louwada Kliron has been defeated, or rather its leader surrenders in between a coughing fit when Lexa holds her blade against his throat. Clarke almost feels sorry for the man. His face glistens with a thin sheet of feverish sweat, blood pools at the corners of his mouth and drips to the ground, and his eyes are so red, Clarke thinks he popped a few veins. But as it is, she doesn’t feel sorry in the slightest, because just before he surrendered himself to Lexa, he plunged a knife into Ryder’s arm and threw another at the young Heda, missing her head so scarcely that it cut off a lock of her brown hair.

“ _Nothing of this had to happen_ ”, Lexa then says.

Her voice is calm as always. Her shoulders squared, back straightened. Her head is not inclined in the slightest, only her eyes are turned to the leader that cowers before her. She has blood splashes all over her frame, but as far as Clarke can see, none of it is dark enough to be hers.

“ _We came here, peacefully._ ”

“ _Peacefully_ ”, the man spits some blood to the ground, followed by another cough. It sounds like he’s trying to get rid of his lungs. “ _You came here with an army at your back._ ”

“ _I told your people I only wanted to speak. They attacked first._ ”

“ _An army!_ ”

He’s shouting at her, but Lexa isn’t fazed by his outburst one bit. She doesn’t move a single muscle which only infuriates him further. Fueled by his anger, he tries to get back to his feet, only to be stopped by the tip of Lexa’s sword that slowly digs itself into the soft skin close to his carotid. It doesn’t draw any blood. Yet.

“ _You should probably back off_ ”, Clarke advises him, though her voice is nothing if not nonchalant. It’s the first thing she has said since this conversation began. “ _There exists no healer able to stop the bleeding if you are cut there._ ”

“ _Listen to her_ ”, Lexa whispers just as uncaring.

“ _Sha, she knows what she talks about. She reads a lot_ ”, Ryder then mocks her, earning himself a glare from the blonde.

The man hesitates with a look of pure exasperation in his eyes. It reminds Clarke of a child that has just been denied dessert after dinner and she wonders if Prince Neo would behave in any way like he does now. She doubts it. The Prince is his junior by decades, but he’d surely know when it is wiser to budge rather than provoke.

Eventually, he gives in and sinks back to the ground, his eyes cast down. Defeated and humiliated.

“ _So, what do you want, Heda kom Trikru?_ ”

Lexa’s emotionless face morphs into a thin, triumphant smile. She removes her sword from his throat and sheaths it, then offers her arm to help him back to his feet.

“ _I want your people to become my people._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

“ _I guess it could have gone worse_ ”, Clarke eventually says.

Her fos snorts before she answers. “ _It could have gone a lot better, too._ ”

The blonde shrugs and takes another bite of the rabbit meat they have been roasting over the bonfire. After the initial shock of Lexa’s blatant statement, the man agreed to the terms she made about Louwada Kliron joining the coalition. Not that he had any real choice with Doah being held hostage by the armies of three clans. Lexa made it pretty clear to him that he was no necessity in this treaty either. His early demise would simply mean that she would have to propose her offer to the next leader. A hopefully more cooperative leader. After that, he was unsurprisingly forthcoming.

After that has been dealt with, warriors have helped clean up the village. It was somewhat surreal. Mere hours after they invaded and killed, they were returning Doah to the state it was before. They rounded up the dead bodies of both sides and burnt them. They brought all injured to their healers; no matter their affiliations. The Louwada Kliron are weary of them, not that Clarke can blame them, and stand clear from most of them, but eventually they’ll realize, that this really was it. That this wasn’t going to be a slaughter or the end of their clan, but rather the beginning of something more.

By now it’s dusk once more, the sun moves to vanish behind the tree lines for the night. Clarke hasn’t changed out of her clothes or properly cleaned herself up yet, she merely wiped a wet rag across her face to get the kohl, blood and grime off, but all that did was smear it into a dark mess. The only part of her that is truly free of anything related to the last hours, are her hands. She hates having blood on her hands - at least in the literal sense of the phrase.

Anya hasn’t changed either, she merely took off her circlet and redid the braids that got loose during the fight. Otherwise she’s covered in blood and dirt like the rest of them, and picks at the meat with her fingers.

“ _Still_ ”, Clarke continues. “ _It is nice to accomplish something like this with reason and not mindless violence._ ”

“ _Heda held a blade to his throat._ ”

“ _Exactly. Held. Not cut._ ”

Anya says nothing at that, though Clarke knows that she agrees with her. They might not have persuaded Louwada Kliron into the coalition peacefully, as Lexa phrased it, but it wasn’t a carnage either. More like a short invasion followed by a swift surrender. They both know that there’s much more to come. Delfikru or Trishanakru will not agree that easily and Azgeda would rather burn themselves to the ground before they join a coalition ruled by Trikru blood. At least with Sangedakru and Louwada Kliron dealt with, two of the four wildcards are already in their pocket. Clarke doesn’t doubt that Boudalan will join them, as there was not one part of their shared history tainted with violence between their people. Ouskejon Kru on the other hand is a whole different story. They are known to be rather direct with trespassers, and in a time when even the usually peaceful people of the valley below attack them on sight, only the spirits know what the people that hide in the mountains will do once they notice an army on their doorstep.

“ _Do not forget that you are the one who taught her everything she knows._ ”

“ _I never taught her to execute people after their surrender_ ”, Anya responds gloomy. “ _Not like that, at least. There is absolutely no honor in that._ ”

“ _I remember you telling me once that honor does not matter_ ”, Clarke smirks.

“ _So, you would have done the same? Threatened to kill him and persuade his successor instead?_ ”

“ _Well, it was effective_.”

Anya snorts. “ _I cannot believe I raised you both._ ”

“ _To be fair, you only raised me for - what? Four years? Five? There is no way you could undo everything done in the previous twelve._ ”

“ _True_ ”, Anya chuckles. “ _Your parents really fucked you up._ ”

Not shortly after she said that, her laughter dies and the general grimaces apologetically when she realizes the topic she just broached. It is something they simply don’t talk about. True, they did speak about her mother after she had that nightmare on Luna’s rig, but that’s about it. After the trial, when Anya truly acknowledged Clarke as her seken and not just a burden, she would try and worm some information about the blonde’s family out of her, but every time she so much as mentioned them, Clarke’s eyes developed a lost look and stared deliberately anywhere but at the general. When it became clear that she would not talk about them, Anya finally dropped the matter. That was two years ago.

“ _Sorry, Clarke. I did not-_ ”

“ _It is alright_ ”, she interrupts, a reassuring smile on her lips. “ _It is not like I remember enough to object._ ”

She knows how sad that statement sounds, even though she doesn’t necessarily mean it as that. It’s merely a fact. But Anya seems to understand, or at least knows to drop the topic. Instead, nodding to the red piece of cloth around her neck she moves onto something that Clarke wants to talk about even less.

“ _What happened to your scarf?_ ”

“ _Oh_ ”, she moves her hand up to twirl it between her fingers, then lies and hopes Anya won’t catch onto her. “ _I used it to clean my sword earlier._ ”

“ _It looks rather dark for blood. Except_ ”, Anya trails of and raises an eyebrow at the blonde.

“ _What, you think I killed a natblida? That is ridiculous._ ”

At least that much is true. She wouldn’t kill a natblida, why would she? They’re all her friends after all and far away in Polis. Well, except for Luna and Lexa. And that little girl in the very village they’re sitting right now, eating rabbit.

“ _It only seems this dark because of the color of the scarf._ ”

“ _Why would red cloth make blood black?_ ”

Clarke knows no answer to that. And when the silence continues, Anya’s eyes widen.

“ _Was Lexa injured, is that her blood?_ ”

It would be such a good excuse to use, but Anya would also detect the lie by morning. She will go to her former seken and ask for her well-being as soon as she thinks that she has been wounded during the short-lived battle and then have a very weird conversation with a young heda that is obviously not injured at all. So, all Clarke can do is deny the claim.

“ _Then whose blood is this?_ ”

Inwardly, Clarke swears. Why didn’t she clean that damn cloth? She took her time to rid her hands off any traces of blood but didn’t even think about the unmistakably black blood on her signature red scarf she never takes off.

“ _Please Anya. Do not make me tell you._ ”

“ _What did you do?_ ”, her voice is horrifyingly low, barely more than a growl. “ _Clarke._ ”

“ _I may have helped in hiding a natblida?_ ”

“ _You did what?_ ”

Anya doesn’t just ask, no. She screams the question at the top of her lungs, loud enough to have all heads in the vicinity turn towards them. The chatter of the other warriors dies down completely. In the sudden silence, Clarke can hear a bird chirping in the forest close to the village’s border.

She doesn’t even notice that Anya throws the rest of her rabbit into the fire and raises to her feet. Suddenly, she’s just dragged through the village and Clarke is sure she’ll have bruises on her arm tomorrow. Anya shoves her into an empty shed and slams the door behind them. Then she closes in on her and reaches for the scarf, tugging on it and pulling Clarke closer in the process.

“ _What the fuck were you thinking_ ”, she hisses into her face. “ _Hiding a natblida. Do you have a death wish?_ ”

“ _I doubt I was thinking at all._ ”

“ _Well, I believe that at least._ ”

Clarke tries to calm down her breathing. She hasn’t been on the end of Anya’s wrath in a very long time. Sure, she would often insult or taunt her, but it hasn’t been anything else but friendly banter in years. She forgot how scared she used to be of the general.

“ _I just could not do it_ ”, the blonde whispers into the silence. “ _Lexa’s conclave were my friends and I was there to witness all their bodies burn. And after seeing Luna again, I - I just-_ ”

Anya closes her eyes and sighs deeply. She lets go of Clarke and shoves her back into the wall. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs again.

“ _Where is this natblida?_ ”

“ _Anya. Please._ ”

“ _This is treason, Clarke_ ”, Anya reminds her, reopening her eyes. Instead of anger it’s mostly concern now that fills her voice. “ _No matter how close you two are, she will take your head for this._ ”

“ _She can begin with herself then. She was the one to hide Luna, in the first place_ ”, the blonde can’t help but scoff.

“ _Since when are you one to justify your wrongs with those of others? Anyway, we already talked about that, too. And we both agreed that will cause trouble in the future, no matter how noble her intentions were. The same goes for you now._ ”

“ _We will be gone in a few days. Nobody will know I helped that little girl, even if they happen to find her._ ”

“ _I knew you would be the death of mine_ ”, Anya whispers, then turns around and opens the door.

“ _So, you will not tell anybody?_ ”

“ _I will not give this away. However, if asked directly, I will not lie for you either. I quite like my head on my shoulders._ ”

That’s probably all the support Clarke will get from Anya. Truth be told, she expected much less. Anya might not be the firmest believer in all the teachings Titus and his fleimkepa have, but she is a Trikru through and through and therefor loyal to the blood and their rule.

“ _Thank you, Anya._ ”

The general doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn around to look at her seken. She merely steps out of the shed and leaves. Clarke just drops to the ground and bangs her head against the wood behind her. She rips the scarf off her neck and stares at the black stains.

“Man, I fucked this one up.”

 

.oOo.

 

It’s been seven weeks since the day he asked Indra to let him go to war. During this time, he’s been walking more miles than he cares to count and had hours full of sleepless nights on the cold ground. By now, the winter has officially taken over and as he stares across the landscape, Lincoln sees only trees covered in white for miles and miles until they blur into the horizon. Especially up here there’s nothing but ice, snow, and wind for miles. Earlier, he wondered if Azgeda is like this every day of the year. A visible shudder ran down his spine as he was told that, no, Azgeda is worse. More snow, more wind, and definitely a lot colder - nothing he’s looking forward to.

Currently, however, he’s far from Azgeda, or his home that surely looks just as white as the mountains he’s climbing with about three dozen other warriors and scouts led by none other than Clarke.

The blonde is unusually quiet, she has been for quite some time now. Ever since the day they invaded Louwada Kliron, to be exact. He doesn’t know what’s going on with her, why her face is a constant mix of conflicting emotions. He heard that there was an argument between her and Anya, but nobody could tell what it was about. All everybody was able to depict was that the general was fuming like they haven’t seen her in a very long time. Ever since that day, the two have been sharing weird glances and talked nothing but the necessities with one another.

Lincoln doesn’t know Anya that well, but he’s seen her interact with Clarke on multiple occasion over the past years and watched their relationship based on fear and hate develop into friendly banter and affection for one another. They both care deeply, though he knows that they’d deny it. And yet, something happened to push them apart so much that Clarke even went out of her way to volunteer for this mission.

Lincoln wouldn’t have, if he’d known what they’d be up to beforehand, but Clarke must have known, she’s Anya’s seken after all. She knows all of their plans, all of their tactics and schemes. It wouldn’t surprise him, if some of it was her idea to begin with.

“ _We are almost there_ ”, Clarke shouts suddenly.

Her voice is barely loud enough to be heard over the lashing wind. It quivers slightly, probably from the immense cold. Lincoln looks up from his snowclad feet and stares ahead where the blonde crouches on top of a small rock and looks towards the horizon.

Her bright hair is turned completely white by snow and frozen to solid strands that flap in the wind like chains. She has her red scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and face, covering everything but her eyes. It’s surprisingly clean, considering the rest of her blood and dirt stained clothes and accessories. He didn’t question it much, though. She always treated that piece of cloth like she worships it, same with her necklace, the watch, and even her sword. He hasn’t seen her without any of these, except maybe the weapon if it was inappropriate to carry a three-foot long blade around.

Shaking all those thoughts from his mind, Lincoln carefully climbs up the rock and halts next to Clarke. She’s right, they are almost there - if almost is the definition of about two more days worth of foot march. At least, now they can see their destination instead of following blindly behind the young blonde who claims to know the way. He hasn’t been doubting her in the slightest, but it’s quite discouraging to be wandering around a landscape that never changes and having no idea where he’s headed. Especially since he’s a scout and therefor usually the one to track their way. He’s never been in Boudalan though, and Clarke has.

He gazes across the trees that litter the landscape and fixes his eyes on Esboro, the large capital that is built into the mountain chain at its north-western edges. It’s one of the few villages that have not been built on top of the ruins of the old world. Instead, the people gathered the resources from nature and ruins around and constructed house after house until they established the biggest village these mountains have ever seen. A small river runs through it, originating a few hundred miles east. The village lies low enough, that the snow has not yet reached it, but Lincoln knows that it won’t be much longer until it does.

“ _Set up camp_ ”, Clarke orders once the whole group has gathered around the rock she and Lincoln stand on. “ _We continue by dawn._ ”

 

.oOo.

 

After more agonizing hours of trudging through the snow, they finally reach civilization once more. And despite the rather hostile greeting, the guards immediately lower their weaponry as Clarke identifies herself and explains that they’re on a mission, sent by Heda. They’re ushered inside the protecting walls.

“ _We were wondering when you arrive_ ”, one of the men says, his voice throaty, but not particular deep.

He’s barely taller than Clarke with grey hair and a thick beard, both kept short. His blue eyes are sunken and surrounded by deep creases that betray his advanced age. A single deep scar runs diagonal across his face, it starts at his hairline, runs across eyes, nose, mouth, and jaw, and vanishes beneath the collar of his mantle. Whoever caused this scar clearly wanted him dead but failed. He has his weapons sheathed but a hand lightly resting above the handle and every once in a while, moves his other fingers to Clarke’s shoulder as he guides them towards the village’s center.

“ _The trudge through the rock line is harder than I remember_ ”, the blonde explains with an apologetic smile. “ _It did not help that we had to elude some Ouskejon forces._ ”

“ _Yes, we were able to observe an increase in their patrols as well. I imagine it has something to do with Doah being overrun by not one, but four clans?_ ”

If Clarke is as surprised as Lincoln is about the Boudalan knowing this so soon after it happened, she doesn’t let it show on her face. Instead she smiles politely at him and offers a small one-sided shrug.

“ _Possibly. Though it were only two clans. Yujleda held the border and Floukru merely offered support in the form of provisions._ ”

“ _Sha, but all are besieging Ouskejon now._ ”

“ _Do you have your eyes everywhere, Aslan?_ ”

“ _You know I do_ ”, he smiles.

Lincoln narrows his eyes at their conversation. They obviously know each other, probably from one of the times Clarke has been here before, though he wonders how often that could have been, as Esboro is far away from the Trikru territory and therefor only frequented by traders, and not warriors.

Aslan then excuses himself and tells the group to wait for his return, as he goes to inform his leaders of their arrival.

“How do you know him?”, he finally decided to satisfy his curiosity.

For a couple of seconds, the silence lies heavy between them, and Lincoln already thinks that he won’t receive an answer, but then Clarke draws a deep breath.

“About two years ago, Anya and I were securing the Azgeda border and we traveled too far south. Aslan led the force that nearly killed us.”

“He nearly killed you?”, Lincoln asks in surprise. “You two seem rather friendly for that.”

“We moved past it”, the blonde shrugs nonchalantly.

There is more to this story, but Clarke doesn’t explain further and Lincoln knows better than to push her into telling the full story. Instead, he asks the only thing that is important right now.

“Can we trust him?”

“We have no choice, Lincoln. We need the Boudalan on our side.”

She stares after where he has gone, contemplating her thoughts before she turns her head to Lincoln with a deliberate nod.

“But yes, we can trust him.”

 

.oOo.

 

**Year 2145**

“So, Natblida are basically invulnerable?”

“In a way”, Gaia shrugs. “They are immune to almost all diseases and poisons known to us. And if they are not immune, they are more resilient and heal quicker.”

Clarke nods slowly, but her mind drifts to a time a year ago. Aron had been sick for days, maybe even weeks, before he finally died peacefully in his sleep. It isn’t that unusual to die of sickness, but Aron wasn’t just young, he was a natblida.

“What about Aron?”

“What about him?”

“He died of sickness”, Clarke explains, slightly surprised that Gaia doesn’t know his name.

Maybe Titus doesn’t teach his students about the past heda? Gaia never met Aron, she was still living with her mother when he died, so maybe she just never learned the nature of his death.

“Well, I guess it can happen”, the apprentice shrugs. “But you would have to ask the Fleimkepa about that.”

“Yeah right”, Clarke snorts and rolls her eyes. “As if Titus would tell me anything.”

Gaia looks towards a shelf on the wall in thought and taps her chin.

“You know, there are some poisons powerful enough to weaken even a natblida.”

“Make them sick like the plague?”

“No, not entirely.”

Gaia pushes the thick book out of her lap and stands up. While brushing dust off her legs, she walks over to the shelf and reaches for a large glass. It’s filled with dark, long blossoms and leaves.

“You cannot weaponize nightshade as you can the plague, to which natblida are immune, too. You would need a whole glass like this for a single person. However, used over time, it can make someone so sick, that they die.”

Clarke carefully takes the glass from Gaia and opens the lid to sniff the leaves. They smell of nothing irregular, just dried flowers. Instantly Clarke ponders where they grow and who breeds them, if they even can be bred.

“How long would you have to do that?”

“A week, I guess. Every day a bit.”

“And for a natblida?”

“A month?”

A month, the blonde repeats in her head. Could Aron have been given these leaves for a month? She always suspected that his death wasn’t entirely natural. Maybe he was poisoned over time? Did he know about this? The way he spoke of enemies close to him it wouldn’t surprise her, but if he did, why didn’t he do something about it?

“Mind if I keep this?”, Clarke asks, holding up the glass in question.

“Not at all. I wouldn’t know what to do with it anyway. And I’m sure Titus won’t notice one of these glasses missing. He doesn’t write his stock down. Just don’t kill anybody with it.”

We’ll see, Clarke thinks as she takes a single blossom out of the glass and grinds it between her fingers. We’ll see.

 

.oOo.

 

**Present**

“ _Why have you sent Clarke to the Boudalan?_ ”

Anya huffs in response as she mounts her horse. It whickers softly and she pets its neck to calm it down.

“ _She is the only one in my army to know any of them_ ”, the general explains. “ _It makes the negotiation easier._ ”

Also, she wanted her as far away from here as possible. After their argument about the natblida girl Clarke chose to help hide in Doah, Anya didn’t dare speaking to her seken, as she didn’t want to lose it again. That they had to assemble a group to send to the Boudalan came in pretty handy, especially since have only few people who know their way through the rock line, and Clarke is one of those. But she can hardly tell Lexa that.

“ _That is true_ ”, Lexa muses as she mounts her horse as well.

Anya’s eyes drift towards the red sash that hangs from the Heda’s shoulder and is spread across the back of her horse like a blanket. Pictures of black spots splattered across the red color flash before her mind and the general closes her eyes with a slight growl.

How is it, that that stupid girl manages to get herself into these situations? Not just her, but both her seken. First, Anya must swear to keep the secret of Lexa hiding Luna all those years ago, and now Clarke does the very same with another natblida.

“ _Anya?_ ”

The general’s eyes snap back up to meet the green orbs of her leader who has her eyebrows raised at her. She looks expectant, as if she waits for an answer. To what question, Anya can’t tell, though. She hasn’t realized Lexa had been talking at all.

“ _Sorry, what?_ ”

“ _I asked if you are ready to go._ ”

“ _Sha, of course._ ”

Anya clears her throat and spurs her horse into a slow trot towards the Ouskejon border.

 

.oOo.

 

It takes them about a day until all armies are positioned close to the mountains. In the dark light of dusk, Anya once more realizes why the Ouskejon territory is called blue cliff; when the sun is set and the forests of Trishanakru to the south glow in the dark, the blue light is reflected by the bleak mountain line that makes up most of their land. It is a beautiful sight and the reason that this region is never truly dark, a clear disadvantage if you plan to invade it.

Only the south of Ouskejon, the part with the fewest trees and the brightest reflections, is heavily populated. That is also, where their capital is positioned. It is simply impossible to sneak up on them, except if you come from the north, but only one clan lies to the north and is able to move an army through the mountains; the Boudalan - the very reason Clarke and a bunch of warriors are on their way there now.

Anya doubts that her seken fails in her task to bring Boudalan into the coalition and use their army to help bring Ouskejon to their knees, but only if they can draw their full attention to the south. And that is exactly the reason they have moved all armies towards the border. The bulk of it are the Trikru armies led by Anya and Tristan. The second largest army is made of Sankru warriors. Most of the Yujleda and Louwada Kliron hold the border to Trishanakru, though, like they were ordered to upon their entry into the coalition.

Still, about a thousand men and women are ready to march at Ouskejon, and when Clarke succeeds in persuading Boudalan, a good five hundred will invade from the north.

They have tried to reason with the Ouskejon as they did with the Louwada Kliron, but they wouldn’t have any of it. So instead, Lexa decided to let full force speak for itself. For the first time, the newly found coalition could truly show its strength.

However, there was something they didn’t plan for, Anya realizes as she is awoken by screams within the camp a few nights later.

She hops out of her bedroll and is inside her clothing within the blink of an eye. She grabs sword and draws it, throwing the sheath carelessly aside as she runs out of the tent, only to be blinded by fires burning down provisions and tents further in the camp. Warriors scream and shout in pain and anger. She hears the clash from iron on iron, hears arrows flying through the air and the crunches of blades hitting their targets. She looks towards the blue glowing mountains and sees the Ouskejon Kru running towards them with raised weapons, however, that is not what distresses her.

No, it’s the warriors that fight her army, wearing the sun of Sangedakru.

_to be continued..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot decide for the title of the next chapter. What would you prefer?  
> "war never changes" or "all is fair in love and war"  
> Whatever gets more votes I'm gonna use.


End file.
